


Oh baby give me one more chance (to show you that I love you)

by LunaCanisLupus_22



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Angst, Bigotry & Prejudice, Complicated Relationships, Denial of Feelings, Derek sorts his shit out, Emotional Abuse, Emotional Hurt, Estrangement, Eventual Happy Ending, Except Stiles can't, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Jealous Stiles, Kidnapping, M/M, Married Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Misunderstandings, Moving On, Pack Feels, Pining, Romance, Sheriff Stilinski Disapproves, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles returns home, Sweet Home Alabama AU, Trust Issues, Werewolf Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-29 22:06:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 54,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10863033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaCanisLupus_22/pseuds/LunaCanisLupus_22
Summary: “You like Derek,” he says slowly. “Derek Hale.”His father grimaces at the accusation there. “Look, Stiles it’s complicated-““So when I was married to him,” he continues, voice rising. “He wasn’t good enough. He was taking advantage of me. ‘He’ll never be able to love you like you want, Stiles’. That’s what you said-“Or the Sweet Home Alabama AU that nobody asked for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title from The Jackson 5 song [I want you back](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DGDyAb6pePo) (honestly can't listen to this without feeling great)
> 
> This fic came out of nowhere. Somehow I was thinking of married!sterek and I rewatched Sweet Home Alabama and it just snowballed from there. The only difference being this fic doesn't have any of the historical racism or confederacy crap or actually anything to do with Alabama.
> 
> It's also a pretty loose adaptation of the film. Basically just started with a few of the same tropes and ran with it. Let me know what you think!

  
  


Stiles is sitting on the couch. The rest of the pack has gone home after the pack meeting ended and he’s staring at Derek out of the corner of his eye, wondering if he’s thinking what Stiles is thinking.

That they’re alone together. That this is the first time they’ve been alone together since that Manticore nearly killed Stiles and Derek had been so relieved that he finally kissed him.

Derek finally _kissed_ him.

Never mind that Stiles was covered in blood and other unmentionables at the time, it had been the greatest moment of his life. Except Derek hasn’t mentioned it again. Practically disappeared into the ether once he’d realised what he’d done.

Let alone that Stiles is nineteen now and in college. Or that he’s been in love with Derek for two years now. And that he’d finally started to think that Derek felt the same.

“So,” he starts, dragging the word out slowly, hopefully.

“No,” Derek says immediately, shutting him down. “It’s time for you to go home, Stiles.”

Stiles shifts to face Derek now, watching the way his entire body is turned away from him as if it’s easier that way. He’s so tense you’d think Stiles jammed the Manticore’s poisonous scorpion tail up his ass rather than saying one _slightly_ suggestive syllable.

“Or I could stay,” he suggests. “And we can talk about the fact that your tongue was in my mouth a few days ago and it was fucking amazing.”

Derek meets his eyes then and he’s doing his best not to react. “You nearly died.”

“Yeah, from how good your mouth made out with my mouth,” he says, ignoring the topic of near death for the sheer unpleasantness of it. “So, here I am humbly requesting a repeat performance.”

He knows he could be phrasing that better but if he’s being honest, he’s nervous enough that stringing any words together is a small victory. He could’ve probably handled rejection from Derek before, albeit crushing, but not now after Derek’s given him hope like this.

“Stiles-“ he starts.

“Just tell me you don’t like me and I’ll drop it,” he says so earnest its ridiculous. “And we’ll never talk about it again.”

Derek gives him this look and Stiles knows that he can’t do it. He can’t tell Stiles he doesn’t like him, because that wouldn’t be the truth. The thought has Stiles grinning like an idiot.

Derek only glares at him.

“Or you could tell me that you _do_ like me,” Stiles says, leaning in encouragingly. “And maybe I’ll tell you the same.”

Stiles scoots over a little closer and Derek doesn’t move away. Another small victory. And then he’s sitting next to Derek. Staring at him. Waiting. Expectant.

Until Derek is staring back.

Stiles reaches a hand out to touch his face, hesitating before he gets there. “Can I-?”

Derek keeps staring at him and he’s such a hard read that Stiles has no idea what he’s going to say. Despite the fact that he’s kissed Stiles before and he was super into it. Or that he gives Stiles these looks sometimes that make him feel like he could literally fight the sun. And win.

But then Derek frowns and he’s curling a hand around Stiles’ face first instead, cupping his jaw. And that’s all he does. He’s just staring at him now and Stiles squirms under his attention, feeling laid bare under it. Naked.

Derek swallows and Stiles is tracking every movement so closely he watches his Adam’s apple move.

He doesn’t say anything.

Derek just leans in and kisses him.  


And it’s everything Stiles ever wanted.

  
  
  


Stiles wakes up to his alarm blaring and the knowledge that he has less than forty five minutes to get to his lecture when it’s a fifty minute train ride via the subway. 

He scrambles out of bed, throws something resembling clothing over his naked body, brushes his teeth with what he assumes was toothpaste or some other kind of minty soap, picks up his book bag and flies outside, barely remembering to lock the door behind him. 

Like he's got anything worth stealing in there anyway. 

He's flushed when he gets on the first train that will take him out of Queens and into Times Square before he has to change for another line. 

He realises he didn't put on deodorant before he left and glances around at the other commuters to see if he's raised any red flags. Since no one is unsubtly wrinkling their nose at him, Stiles tips his head down, takes a surreptitious sniff and decides that will have to do. 

It's a wonder that he's dating the most eligible socialite in New York. And that she doesn't turn her nose up at the sight of him on a regular basis. 

What's even more impossible is that Stiles could still be having dreams about someone else. 

But it's not like he's got control over his subconscious. Stiles has tried having talks with himself about this, but apparently his brain is persistent in what he's dreaming about. Or more specifically, what memory he's reliving. 

It's horrible. Stiles is a terrible person. 

And he's late for his lecture.

  
  
  


“I think we’re at the past relationship stage,” Lydia announces when they’re curled up in bed watching House of Cards.

Stiles falters before answering. They’ve only been dating a few months and he’s been hesitant to bring up his bisexuality. He doesn’t think Lydia is concealing secret biphobic tendencies but he doesn’t know what to expect when he comes clean either.

“Our lists might overlap,” he jokes almost automatically to relieve some of the tension.

Lydia frowns at him. And then pauses the episode so it's definitely serious. He's got her full attention now.

“I’m bisexual,” he says, clarifying.

She’s quiet for a little while. “Can I ask a question?”

Stiles resists the urge to groan. “Please don’t ask me if I want to have a threesome.”

She sits up then, offended. “Stiles I would not have to look far to find myself a threesome. I’d hardly need your help for that. That’s not what I wanted to say.”

“Oh,” he says, relieved. “Then ask away.”

“When did you know?” she asks hesitantly. “That you were bisexual?”

Stiles thinks about it without really thinking about it. Well, without thinking of a certain someone. “Pretty much as soon as I was in high school.”

She doesn't talk for a while and Stiles actually has no idea what she could possibly be thinking about. Unless she's planning on dumping him, which is a very distinct possibility. He's been stood up before once people found out he's bisexual. It shouldn't be a thing. But Stiles' life has always been unfortunate in a lot of ways. 

“I think- I might not just be interested in guys as well,” Lydia finally admits without looking at him.

“Really?” Stiles says, surprised and turning on his side to face her.

Lydia’s expression is unusually soft. Sort of vulnerable. “There was this girl, when Mom sent me to an anti-werewolf self-defence camp as a sophomore-“

“Oh my God,” Stiles groans, face palming. “You _went_ to one of those?”

Stiles might have been interested in that. If he wanted to go to sleep with a knife under his pillow and constantly talk about how werewolves were behind every conspiracy known to man. Including the moon landing. Jesus. 

Lydia rolls her eyes too. “Yeah, werewolves had just become public and my Mom was freaking out. Werewolf prejudices aside, it taught me how to defend myself from all kinds of people, not just those with supernatural strength.”

Stiles can kind of see how that would have been a benefit to her. Especially as a young woman. But still. He's cringing at the thought. Maybe that's because he knew about werewolves before the rest of the world did. He had the unspoken advantage of knowing they weren't actually interested in world domination. 

“Tell me about her.”

Lydia sends him a look. “We didn’t get naked if that’s why you’re interested.”

Little harsh, but Stiles is willing to push past that in light of the monumental thing Lydia's just told him. It must have taken her a lot to admit something like that, he's not going to be rude about it. 

“That’s not why I’m interested,” he says, earnestly. “How did you know you liked her?”

She’s playing with the material of Stiles’ quilt cover as she thinks about it. “I guess I really didn’t even realise it at the time? But you know looking back now, she had this profound affect on me. I’ve never met anyone else like her.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow. 

“Sorry,” she says, shrugging, but doesn't take it back.

“Hey, I’m all for the honesty,” he replies, not as offended as he should be. Stiles isn't really that possessive. “So how come you didn’t track her down afterward?”

Lydia sighs and spreads out forlornly. “I missed her so much once summer was over but the camp was supposed to be anonymous. We weren’t allowed to give out surnames or exchange details. It was during that time of panic where everyone was paranoid werewolves were hiding amongst us. I didn’t even know what town she was from.”

“That sucks,” Stiles sympathises. “What was her name?”

“Aly,” Lydia says. “We never even kissed but it was something, you know? I know there was the possibility of more. We used to share the same bed and fall asleep in each other’s arms and she always liked to put her head in my lap and doze off in between training. I kissed a few girls after high school, but just drunken club hook ups. I never seriously dated a girl.”

“Doesn’t make you any less bisexual,” Stiles points out. “If you feel that’s the right label then it is.”

He really did not expect to be giving Lydia bisexual advice when he finally came clean about his own sexuality. Especially not during a House of Cards marathon. But stranger things have happened. 

“So have you dated a guy then?” Lydia asks.

Stiles glances automatically at his left hand, taking in the bareness of his finger before his brain catches up and he regrets it. “Yeah I was with a guy. For nearly two years but we danced around it for longer than that. He was a bit older than me and he didn’t want to take advantage.”

Lydia’s stroking her fingers through his hair now. “Is it very different? Dating a man rather than a woman?”

“It is and it isn’t?”

He knows that's not much to go by but Lydia seems to understand his meaning anyway because she doesn’t push further. “So who else after that?” 

Stiles shrugs. “That’s my list. A few failed dates after that. But that's it.”

“So it was serious?”

Was it ever. Stiles isn’t about to tell her that he married the guy. Or that technically, he’s still married to him. Not exactly appropriate pillow talk. “Yeah. Until it wasn’t. What’s your list?”

Lydia hesitates. “Mine might be a little longer.”

Why should that bother him? Stiles doesn't care. “What’s wrong with that?" he asks. "Walk me down ex lane. Spare no detail. Tell me how they crashed and burned in the wake of your glory.”

She laughs, dropping back onto the pillows again. “Well alright, but you did ask for it.”

Stiles kisses her and then lets her do the talking.

“I dated this dick in high school-“

“Is that his name?” he teases.

Lydia gives him a patient look. “His name was Jackson, but we didn’t work out because as soon as he found out about werewolves he forced his parents to move town so he could find this powerful alpha to bite him.”

Stiles nearly falls off the bed. “Oh my God,” he cries, realising. “Jackson _Whittemore_?”

She lets out a soft noise of surprise. “Yes. Do you know him?”

Holy shit what a small world. "He transferred over to my high school almost as soon as my best friend got bit.”

Lydia looks amazed. “Your best friend, Scott? So you know the alpha he got the bite from then?”

Stiles’ stomach rolls. “Uh yeah. He was a hot mess. Biting people left and right if they wanted it. Not if they deserved it. Some people shouldn’t have that kind of power. Like Jackson.”

“Yeah, he’s was pretty awful,” she agrees. “I thought I might be in love him but looking back now I guess I was out of my mind. After that I was fooling around with any bad boy I came across. Most of them werewolves, just to piss my parents off. My father went off the rails honestly and then my mom left him. Then these alpha twins came roaming into town and-“

“Alpha twins?” he repeats, incredulously. “Ethan and Aiden? How many common acquaintances do we have?”

“They were in Jacksonville for only a few months. They even attended my high school. I think they were looking for someone.”

“An alpha probably,” Stiles says. “They destroyed packs and ‘convinced’ the surviving alpha to join them. Well, until they came to Beacon Hills looking for trouble.”

Lydia idly strokes her fingers along his bare chest. “I can’t believe how close our lives have come to converging before we finally met. How strange.”

“Strange,” he agrees, oddly disconcerted by it.

He waits and Lydia starts talking again.

She wasn’t kidding. Her list is definitely longer than his and infinitely more impressive.

Lydia is amazing.

  
  
  


Stiles is in the middle of a double degree of sociology and law at Columbia University and he’s still got a year left. Originally he was attending Stanford University for two years before he left Beacon Hills permanently and switched out for Columbia. 

He’s still on the fence about continuing on to a Graduate level and possible phd, because of time and money constraints and a certain degree of self preservation to avoid unnecessary suffering.

Stiles needs to take shots every time he looks at his college bills. He’s nearly working full time at a fancy bar in Manhattan to cover most of it and a little book store on the weekends during the day hours before the bar opens in the evenings. Lydia loves how he makes Martinis.

It’s also how they met. Well no, not technically. It’s the place where he finally asked her out. He’s known Lydia since the first month he came to New York and got a shitty apartment in Sunnyside and picked up a job in a musty old bookstore. 

That’s when he first met her. He sold her a rare book in archaic Latin and they’d struck an odd conversation about it before she’d invited him to a nearby pub with her friends after his shift finished.

He didn’t think it was a date. He wasn’t capable of anything beyond friendship during those first few months. That first year actually. But he appreciated whatever feeling inspired her to take him into the fold. 

That’s how he met Xander, Brigid and Annora. Going from a pack full of werewolves and family to completely alone had been hard. Finding a new group of friends had helped. The only person he’d kept in contact with had been Scott and that was hard enough. 

He and Lydia only really started dating two years ago, when she’d dropped by the bar unannounced to see him.

When she’d walked into the room Stiles had forgotten entirely about the customer he was supposed to be serving. He’d actually had to remake the drink, he’d been so distracted.

Lydia had felt his eyes and made a beeline straight for him. Then she’d sat down and smiled that smile of hers and that’s all it took really. He’d managed to work up the courage to open his mouth and finally ask her out.

By the time she’d left the bar to meet up with the rest of their friends, she’d already organised a date.

Stiles was on a cloud of satisfaction all night.

The date itself might have been a little disastrous. He'd been nervous about it after a few failures before hand, a few walk outs, and since Derek so he’d taken her to Central park for coffee and a stroll with low key pressure. It had started out fine until he’d somehow gotten chewing gum in her hair.

She’d had to cut a chunk of hair out to get rid of it, but Lydia had agreed to a second date anyway.

They’d been together ever since.

They don't see each other as often as he'd like because not only is Lydia a wealthy socialite, but she's also studying at MIT with the intention of earning herself a field's medal in the near future. She's infinitely more impressive than any girl Stiles could have dreamed up, except it takes nearly three and a half hours drive to visit her. When she's at college and living on campus. 

They're semi long distance. But they see each other enough to keep the ball rolling. Lydia usually comes back on weekends. Or Stiles takes a bus and a train to visit. They make it work. 

Lydia is working in the labs most days anyway. Stiles doesn't want to hurt her learning vibe. Plus he's got his own degree to worry about. They skype whenever they can't meet up and do their best to keep current in each other's lives. 

They make it work. 

  
  
  


Stiles still has dreams about Derek sometimes. When he wakes up, he always hates himself for a few minutes afterward, betrayed by his own subconscious when he’s got an amazing girlfriend curled up and fast asleep in his bed.

It’s outside of his control really. Sometimes it happens in the days leading up to Derek’s birthday. When he starts counting the dates down and unwittingly thinking about his husband and what he might be doing right now. Whether he’s celebrating.

Most of the time he just dreams about Derek for no reason at all.

It’s not a problem. At least Stiles firmly refuses to believe it is. It only happens a couple times a year, and he’s certainly not sitting around daydreaming about him. He’s not constantly thinking about Derek.

In fact, he barely thinks about him at all.

  
  
  


“Marry me,” Lydia says, apropos of nothing while they’re standing at the coat check of a fancy restaurant, having survived another dinner with her father.

Lydia Martin might be a force to be reckoned with but her father Ross, is especially painful. Most days Lydia doesn’t even want to see him. But he’s a high profile politician and she can only keep up a clashing schedules dance for so long.

His platform isn’t anti-werewolf per se but Ross Martin doesn’t seem to shy away from rubbing elbows with politicians that are. If Stiles didn’t already have an impressive dislike for him, he’d hate Lydia’s father for that alone.

He’s been around enough werewolves to know what that kind of prejudice is like for them to experience. Not all of his friends were born wolves. Some of them sought out the bite when werewolves stopped being just a myth and some of them never had a choice in the first place. 

None of them deserve shitty politicians deciding whether or not they can drive or walk the streets late at night or be around human children without endangering them. He can’t help but feel like a traitor every time he sits down across from Lydia’s father to share a meal.

As always, the dinner was painful.

Ross spent nearly the entire dinner throwing barbs Stiles’ way and he resisted the urge to dump the Lobster frittata he ordered that costs more than Stiles makes in three months on his head through sheer will alone. 

He always hates going to fancy restaurants like this but unfortunately Lydia says it comes with the territory. She tried to take her father out to a burger joint for dinner once and he didn’t speak to her for the rest of the week.

Stiles often argues that would be a good thing, not a punishment. But still, as he accepts his coat from the woman working the coat check he’s not so sure he heard Lydia right.

“What?”

“Marry me,” Lydia repeats. “We should get married.”

Stiles glances at the coat check lady who shrugs. “In front of a coat stand?”

Lydia waits for him to catch up and he feels sort of lightheaded. “Not in front of the coat stand?”

“No, honey,” she says, rolling her eyes. “In front of our friends and family.”

“Really?” he says, broad grin breaking out across his face at the thought.

She accepts her coat from the woman and hands her a generous tip afterward. “No, Stiles this has all been an elaborate joke on my part because I don’t want to take the next step with you.”

Stiles blinks at her. “Uh…”

“That’s sarcasm, dude,” the coat check lady says.

“Thank you,” Lydia says politely before tugging on her coat while Stiles tries to do the same. It takes him a few tries to realise he’s putting it on backwards.

Then she leads him out into the bitter cold.

“Don’t you think we’re ready?” she asks, linking her arm through his. “We’ve been talking about it.”

“Yeah but-“

 _I’m already married and that might throw a spanner in the works_.

Is that really so hard to say? Lydia glances at him and he realises just how much courage it would have taken her to ask him this. She must really want to be his wife. His chest feels hot with excitement.

“Do you not want to?” she says. “If it’s too soon I understand.”

“No, I want to,” he says hurriedly. But he needs to sort out his divorce first. And things would go so much smoother if Lydia didn’t have to worry about any of that stuff. Especially his past.

“It’s just my dad.”

Lydia understands immediately and Stiles feels terrible for the partial lie. 

“You’d want him to be there,” she says. “But you haven’t talked in years.”

Four years to be exact. 

Stiles didn’t ever think he could become estranged from his dad. After his mom died, Stiles started micromanaging ever inch of his father’s diet, terrified of the losing him as well. They’d been close when it was just the two of them, and the thought of Stiles moving away and having a life without him would have seemed impossible.

Until Derek.

“I need to go home first,” he tells her. “Before we get married. There are some things I need to sort out.”

It's a good thing spring break just started. Stiles has the time now to actually go to Beacon Hills and fix this. Lydia squeezes his arm gently. “You know I’ve always said I wanted to see Beacon Hills. You could give me the grand tour.”

And isn't that just a terrible idea that Stiles should avoid at all costs? “I should do this alone,” he says quickly. “Things with my dad, you know. It’s going to be messy.”

She leans up to kiss him and Stiles feels warm all over. “I understand. Just make sure you come back to me.”

There’s no way in hell he’d rather be anywhere else. He'd be out of his mind to ever turn his back on the beautiful perfection that is Lydia Martin. “I will. I promise.”

Lydia’s smile curls up mischievously. “Want to go shopping for rings?”

Stiles frowns. “Isn’t it too late at night for that?”

She smirks at the question. “I know a girl,” Lydia says mysteriously.

He can’t help but laugh at the tone. “Then lead on my lovely fiancée.”

Lydia’s heels click across the sidewalk and they take off towards fifth avenue together.

  
  
  


The plane ride is a haze of nerves and in flight movies. Stiles downs a mini bottle of Smirnoff vodka to settle the agitation crawling all over his skin and then drinks two cups of coffee in quick succession.

The result being Stiles needs to get up and pee right at the part where Peter Quill is trying to show Gamora how to dance. The woman sitting next to him, who’s been eyeing his jiggling leg like it personally offends her, gets up with the air of someone judging his tiny little bladder.

Or at least Stiles certainly feels judged when he hurries down the aisle. If he doesn’t have a panic attack at least once before touching down and driving over to see Derek it will be a miracle.

He should probably have called to let his dad know he was coming but they really haven’t had any contact in so long, he's not sure how that conversation would go. Stiles still sends cards on his birthday, he’s not a monster, but that’s about all the communication they get.

And it’s one sided. His dad doesn’t have his address in New York. He could though, if he was determined enough. He is the Sheriff after all. And Stiles does have a record.

He manages to reach his seat again with minimal disaster, though he does accidentally elbow the male flight attendant as he tries to squeeze past. Stiles probably deserves the politely delivered stink eye he gets for that one. 

His elbow went into a sensitive place.

He fiddles on his phone for a little while. Decides to text Scott to let him know he's returning to Beacon Hills and that no one else in the pack knows yet. Scott's at work right now, but he manages to text back a fair few excited looking emojis that make Stiles feel a little better about the whole thing. He hasn't actually seen Scott for four years either. 

Mostly because he'd been so busy with college and Stiles refused to return to Beacon Hills. Plus Scott couldn't afford to come out and meet him in New York. At least that's the excuse he used, even when Stiles offered to buy him a plane ticket. They used to be best friends, but Stiles knows that's dropped down to barely acquaintances since he left. 

He hates that. But there was really nothing to be done to change it. They still text. Scott tells him what's going on with his life and Stiles does the same. But it's not current. Scott doesn't always answer back immediately. Sometimes he takes days to reply. And Stiles thinks he can count the amount of times they've skyped each other on his fingers. 

He's still hopeful though that they'll fall back into old rhythms. Xander, Annora and Brigid may be great buddies, but he's missed his best friend. Nobody else could possibly fill that role. 

Afterwards, he texts Lydia to let her know when he’ll be landing and then plays candy crush until the phone battery dies, explosions in the galaxy happening in his headphones and in his peripheral.

It’s easier to concentrate somehow doing two different things at once. But he pockets his phone when the screen goes dark and watches the end of the movie with the same amount of leg jiggling as before.

He puts on Brooklyn Nine Nine after that. And starts marathoning season one because it’s just the kind of light-hearted comedy he needs right now. He can feel lady-stick-up-her-butt glancing over at his screen every few minutes and watching some of the episode. Before it’s over she’s searching up the TV show and starting the first episode on her own screen.

Maybe that will cheer her up.

The girl on his left, knocked out on some kind of ambien is snoring softly against the window. She’s only kicked him in her sleep once which is nice.

At least he’s not sitting next to a baby. Or has to deal with a bratty kid kicking the back of his seat. He’s about to visit his father who he hasn’t seen since leaving Beacon Hills in his dust as well as the man he first gave his heart to and ultimately crushed it.

Things could definitely be worse.

  
  
  


Stiles drives the rental to their old place only to find its not there anymore. 

There’s a children’s park instead and he realises Derek must have demolished it. Probably to erase every last degree of Stiles’ presence there.

As if tossing him out on his ass and trashing their home hadn’t been enough. 

Stiles turns the car around and tries to think of where Derek would have gone. He’d be near the woods, not in town because the noises get on his nerves and the crowds of people frustrate his senses. He tries to call Scott for information, but he's still working and Stiles isn't entirely confident that he'll even tell him where actually Derek lives.

Stiles is driving onto the Hale property before he comes up with an idea. It looks the same as he remembers. The pack used to train here a lot, hold pack meetings on the lawn in front of the remains of Derek’s childhood.

Only when he pulls past the familiar copse of trees there’s no depressing casing of the Hale house where it used to be. The entire thing is gone.

Stiles slows the car down so he can get a better look. His mind isn’t playing tricks on him, he’s in the right spot. The house just isn’t there anymore. And in its place is a serene looking garden with a man-made fountain at the centre.

It’s fitting somehow, he realises, to have life and water in a place where there was once death and fire and Stiles wonders if it was Derek’s idea to change it or if Cora had finally had enough of the bad memories.

The pebbled road continues on past the garden so Stiles rolls on along it, assuming there might be another place here now. Derek would have wanted to stay on the Hale property if he could have managed it.

Stiles sees the house a few minutes later. It’s the kind of place where you live with a big family and raise kids. Just like the Hale house had been. Stiles jams on the brakes at the thought that this place could be exactly what it looks like.

Derek could be with someone else. He could have started a family. But if he did that then why did he keep sending back the divorce papers unsigned?

Stiles resumes driving and determinedly pulls into the driveway. There’s no moment to prepare for him, Derek comes straight out of the front door, having heard the car approach and his face is relaxed and surprisingly less hostile than it used to be.

That is until he sees who’s in the driver’s seat.

The expression on his face freezes and Stiles is absorbing every inch of him as he puts the car into park, switching off the engine. He’s barefoot and he’s wearing a comfortable looking sweater. He still favours tight jeans apparently and he’s just as built as Stiles remembers. Maybe more so.

Werewolves don’t age like humans do but time has shown a few minor changes. Whatever it is, Derek looks even better than he remembers. It’s not fair.

It’s worse when Derek wheels about and stalks back towards the door he came out of.

“Hey!” Stiles calls, stumbling out of the driver’s seat and nearly strangling himself with the seatbelt until he can unclip himself. “You’d better come right back here, dude. I need to talk to you.”

“Go away, Stiles,” Derek says and heat pours into his body at the way his name sounds coming out of Derek’s mouth after so long.

Stiles moves fast and manages to catch the edge of the door before Derek closes it in his face. He’s panting without really even understanding why. 

“You know why I’m here.”

Derek finally looks at him then and Stiles realises that their faces are way too close together and automatically steps back. Which unfortunately means letting go of the door.

“No, I don’t,” he says, and his voice is soft and a little gravely like Stiles remembers. “I don’t know you at all.”

And then he shuts the door in Stiles’ face.

Perfect.

  
  
  


“Really Derek?” he says, at a normal volume, knowing Derek will hear him. “You clearly haven’t worked out how to hold a conversation in all the time since I’ve seen you. C’mon, let’s make this as painless as possible. You don’t want me here, I don’t want to be here-“

“Then go,” he hears faintly from inside the house.

He is not going to discuss their divorce through a wall. There’s no way in hell that’s happening. He peers around the front door, eyes falling on a couple of wooden chairs on the other end of the porch. He doubts Derek’s changed all his tricks in the last four years.

Stiles moves towards the chair closest to him, drops down to his knees and runs his hands on the underside of the wooden seat. His hand comes away with a few cob webs and the spare key Derek’s attached with a Velcro strip.

When Stiles lets himself into Derek’s house he doesn’t exactly feel great about it, but there’s a little bit of triumph in coming face to face with him again. Derek stomps into the main hallway once he hears that Stiles is in the house and his eyebrows are high and angry looking.

“So, you moved out of our place,” Stiles tries, for a conversation starter. “Couldn’t wait to be rid of me.”

Derek’s expression does something complicated but he doesn’t answer the question. “What do you want Stiles?”

The fact that he’s acting like he has no idea is the kind of loop Stiles hadn’t anticipated to be thrown for. He knows Derek received the divorce papers because his lawyer, Kira Yukimura has been sending them to him for the past four years. And Derek’s been sending them back every time. 

Stiles could potentially be accruing millions of dollars debt in postage if this keeps going on. In the past week since his engagement, Stiles had Miss Yukimura send Derek four copies of their divorce papers. When he finally returns to New York, his lawyer will most likely have all of them, unsigned and without any reply.

Derek’s always been good with his words like that.

“I want my divorce,” he says eventually. “You know the papers you were meant to sign that my lawyer has been sending you for years now?”

Stiles pulls the folded papers out of the back of his jeans and brandishes them at Derek as enticingly as possible. There’s some really good smells coming out of what Stiles assumes is the kitchen. Is Derek cooking dinner? Derek doesn't take the paperwork but he's staring down at Stiles' exposed hand. Where his new engagement ring is sitting.

Right. Stiles probably shouldn't have worn that here. 

Derek’s face is suddenly as blank as the signature section of their divorce papers.

“Fine,” he says, remarkably, before extending his hands for the papers.

Stiles hesitates as if it’s some kind of trick. But when Derek does nothing else but raise his eyebrows impatiently, in a familiar move that steals the breath from Stiles’ lungs, he hands them over without another word. 

His astonishment stems from how easy it was. Derek hasn’t just been sending them back in the hopes that Stiles would come here in person to sort this out has he?

No. Derek kicked him out. He’d never been as invested in their relationship as Stiles assumed he was. That's a reality Stiles had to face four years ago before he left Beacon Hills and never looked back.

Derek mustn’t have a pen because he turns and heads back down the hall. Stiles doesn’t wait for the invitation and follows after him, watching the familiar way he moves, how Derek holds himself up.

The house has its own kind of charm that Stiles wouldn’t have expected in a place that Derek lives in. In his loft there had only been the bare essentials. A bed. Some cutlery. Sheets. Clothes. Derek didn’t even have a TV then. When they’d moved in together, they’d mainly picked up Stiles’ stuff and that had filled up the place.

Derek always had a minimal approach to living.

This house is kind of the opposite of that. There are decorative frames. Little nick nacks that are purely for aesthetic purposes. There are colourful succulents lining the sill of the east facing windows in the living room and there are splashes of green and white which makes the place seem earthy and natural.

Stiles can smell timber in the air and he can see Derek’s gone for lots of open space with a smattering of wooden furniture to balance out the place. He knows it’s a big change for Derek who hasn’t held much interest in flammable things and softer colours but it’s a surprising one. Especially from all the dark shades of his previous living spaces, the sturdy metals. 

There are wide, open windows leading out to the back porch and down to a small courtyard below where Stiles can see a barbeque and tables large enough to house the entire pack.

It seems really comfortable here. Cosy. Stiles loses some of the tension between his shoulders admiring the place. There’s so much _light_.

Derek probably gets the fading sun curling through the woods and through his open windows in the late afternoon. There’s a thoughtful, subtle kind of approach to the decorating that makes Stiles thinks a woman was involved. Derek would never have lived in a place like this before.

He leads Stiles’ into a nicely furnished office that Stiles thinks would be the perfect space to do research. The chair looks extremely comfortable and there’s a window facing the woods at the back of the house, a nice bit of scenery that wouldn’t be too distracting.

Derek goes straight to the desk beleaguered with so many drawers that Stiles could spend hours fiddling around with and fetches a pen out of a felt covered rabbit. A fucking rabbit. Of all the clichés.

Stiles resists a comment but when he sees Derek lay the divorce papers onto the table in preparation of signing them, he steps back and out into the hallway again. He can’t watch Derek do this.

Derek hears him leave but doesn’t seem bothered that Stiles is going to trash his place. It would serve him right if Stiles did though, not like Derek didn’t do the same to him all those years ago.

“Are you going to see your dad before you go?” Derek wonders, and his voice is a lot less aggressive, more conversational.

Stiles is surprised they’ve reached amicable so quickly, but his lips purse at mention of his father. He hasn’t talked to him since the day he left and for good reason. Stiles couldn’t bear to face him. To see that expression on his face that was half pity and half acknowledgement that he’d seen this coming all along. It’s the same face he always wears once he’s cracked a case and caught the perp.

There's no way Stiles wanted to see that. Especially about his relationship with Derek.

“Uh-“ he starts. “I guess. Probably. Maybe. Actually, he’s super busy, you know saving the world from cats in trees and all that- wouldn’t want to bother him.”

Derek doesn’t respond and it’s not like he couldn’t have heard him. Stiles is too busy inspecting the wide photo of the whole pack hanging on the wall in the hallway. He doesn’t remember this photo, but that means it was taken in the sans Stiles years.

Scott’s got his arm around Derek’s neck and there’s Cora and Allison, Boyd, Erica, Isaac, Jackson, Jordan and a few new faces that must be werewolves. There’s a drop dead gorgeous girl on Derek’s left and they seem pretty friendly. Stiles leans in closer to inspect her and sees an unusual crackle in her eyes.

Not werewolf. Something else.

Suddenly he can taste the magic in the air. She’s some kind of witch. Wow, they really replaced Stiles in every form possible, didn’t they? Who does their monster research now? One of those pissbaby looking werewolves?

They’re all grinning like they’re sharing a hidden joke and Stiles suddenly can’t bear to look at it anymore. He reels back and suddenly Derek’s in the hallway with him, holding out the papers.

Stiles snatches them from him with a scowl that’s maybe only a little deserved before he realises that Derek’s left the area where his signature should be blank. _Again_.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he demands, waving the papers in the air. “Derek-“

“I’ll sign them once you go and see your dad,” Derek says firmly. “Those are my terms.”

“Terms?” he shouts. “You fucking dick. There aren’t any terms, just sign the damn papers.”

Derek tilts his head like he’s not even listening anymore and Stiles realises that he took too long in the office if he wasn’t signing the divorce papers. He stomps over to the living room curtains and yanks them back to see the front yard where there’s a police cruiser pulling into the drive.

“You called my dad?” he cries, heart pounding at the thought. “He hates you.”

Derek turns away from him. “You’re trespassing.”

Parrish gets out of the cruiser and Stiles nearly exhales half a lung in relief once he sees he’s alone. “Like I haven’t heard that before.”

It's a good thing he doesn't have to face his father like this. At Derek's house. Basically the worst combination of things possible. Parrish reaches the porch and Derek goes to open the door before he even gets the chance to knock. Jordan Parrish is startled for a second before he catches sight of Stiles hovering angrily behind Derek's back.

“Stiles!” he crows, delighted as he squeezes past Derek to hug him. “What are you doing here?”

“Trespassing,” Derek mutters.

Parrish lets him go and his expression seems a little more stern than it was before.

“I’m not trespassing,” Stiles insists. “We’re still married. What’s mine is yours baby.”

Derek flinches like he’s been punched in the gut and Stiles would happily stop throwing barbs when he signs the fucking papers already.

“A domestic dispute,” Parrish decides, shrugging at Derek in a what-can-you-do kind of way. “I can’t legally remove him unless he’s gotten physical or abusive.”

Derek glances at Stiles and he can see those gears turning in his mind. But Derek’s not a liar. “He was going to leave town without seeing his dad, once I signed the divorce papers.”

Parrish’s friendly demeanour changes and Stiles feels caught out all of a sudden. Trust Derek to find a damn loophole.

“You’re coming with me,” Parrish says gruffly and in the next second he’s turning Stiles around and cuffing him.

Stiles sighs and lets himself be led out of the house and put into Parrish’s police cruiser. Derek follows them both out, but he’s not even looking at Stiles, he’s talking to Parrish. Stiles wiggles around in the back seat and starts trying to get out of the cuffs.

“It’ll be okay,” Parrish promises, like Derek’s the one who needs reassurance. Then he heads over to the rental car, which Stiles left unlocked and opens the passenger side to peer into the car.

Derek pulls out his cell phone while Parrish is rummaging, illegally, Stiles should point out through his rental car and Derek ends up placing a call.

“Marjorie?” he says, as if he’s not right near Stiles who can hear every damn word. “I need to see you today. It’s really important.”

Stiles isn’t a werewolf so he can’t hear the answer but he can read it on Derek’s face. The way his face actually softens in visible relief makes him feel a little sick.

“Sure, now’s a great time to talk to your girlfriend and rub her in my face. So you’ve moved on but you won’t let me do the same? Real fair, Derek.”

Derek’s head snaps towards him and he seems to realise that Stiles was close enough to overhear the conversation. Stiles is waiting for his face to shut down like it always does whenever he’s confronted with feelings, but Derek just steps out of range of Stiles’ hearing, looking nervous.

The reaction startles Stiles into silence so he forgets to protest when Parrish climbs into the front seat with Stiles' bag. By the time he’s buckled up and started the car Stiles is free of the cuffs and has spread himself out horizontally along the back seat. But unfortunately he’s not getting out of this car anytime soon.

“Let’s go see my dad,” he mutters, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

  
  
  


Parrish doesn’t complain that Stiles liberated himself of those cuffs but he’s friendly enough when he leads Stiles into the precinct. Yeah, under armed escort. And carrying a bag of Stiles' clothing that he stole from out of his car.

This is so not how he wanted the day to go.

His dad comes out of his office with a mug, determinedly focused on his caffeine intake and doesn’t seem to realise his long lost son is standing in the middle of the precinct. He figures it out eventually. He’s the Sheriff for a reason.

His eyes go wide at the sight of him and he sets his empty coffee mug onto a nearby desk before approaching. If Stiles had been given the chance of a phone call, there's no way he would have called his dad to come and get him. He'd have tried Scott at the clinic first. But that's the rub when your father is law enforcement. The sheriff even. 

“Heyyyy dad,” Stiles tries, awkwardly, wondering how much anger and resentment is still there between them as Parrish helpfully sets his bag down on the edge of a desk.

Stiles didn’t think he’d ever get over what his dad did.

“Stiles,” he breathes and pulls him straight into his arms. “What- what is- you’re here.”

“Yeah,” he says, patting his dad clumsily. “I’m here.”

“I cuffed him and brought him in the police car,” Parrish says proudly before Stiles shoots him a nasty look.

The sheriff only raises his eyebrow.

“I came to see Derek,” he says and feels exactly when his father goes stiff in his arms. “For the divorce papers. I’m engaged. Yay.”

His dad pulls away, shocked and Stiles lifts his hand up, showing off the ring. “You’re engaged? You’re going to get married?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “She’s perfect, Dad. You couldn’t possibly disapprove of this one.”

His mouth goes thin all at once and he’s stepping away to pick up his coffee mug. “Stiles-“

“Anyway,” he says loudly, talking over his father. “You got a place to stay, pops? I can check into the Hills hotel but I might pick up a venereal disease there.”

“Of course, of course,” his dad says. “Want to get dinner? I’ll cut out early.”

Stiles steps back, waving his hands and shaking his head. “Oh no, no trouble at all. I can look after-“

“I got you covered, Sheriff,” Parrish offers, earnestly and Stiles wants to punch him.

Great. Time to spend time with his dad. Who Stiles hasn’t spoken to since he left and who basically lit the embers that burned his relationship to the ground.

Super.

  
  
  


Scott turns up at the station as soon as his shift ends. He hugs Stiles so enthusiastically he almost cracks a rib. 

"It's so good to see you!" Scott says, grinning from ear to ear. 

But Stiles only stares at him suspiciously. He's barely been here for twenty minutes while his father finishes up his paperwork and Stiles would definitely have remembered mentioning to Scott that he was here. At the station, specifically. 

Which means one thing. 

"Derek told you I'm at the precinct?" he demands, and Scott's excitement dwindles. 

"Stiles, c'mon. We're in the same pack." 

Why didn't he just call Stiles though? His phone is fully charged and functional. He didn't need to speak to Derek at all. "You don't even have to be in the same pack anymore," he grumbles. "I'm the one who wanted you guys to work together. You don't have to stick around for Derek." 

Scott's expression turns disapproving and Stiles can see a fight coming on. "He's my friend too, Stiles." 

Stiles snorts at the response. "And I'm not?" 

He knows he's not exactly being fair, but it's not a great feeling realising that his best friend might have become closer to his ex husband while he was away in New York. They'd never gotten along _that_ well before, they'd only really joined forces at Stiles' insistence. He's the one who brought them together. 

"Who's up for dinner?" his father asks, appearing behind them before Stiles can really get going. 

Whatever argument they were leaning towards has passed now that his dad is there and Stiles doesn't know whether to thank or curse his poor timing. Scott looks relieved at least. 

"You're coming right?" Stiles asks Scott, hearing the plea in his voice.

He'd rather not be alone with his father. Especially if they're moving towards an explosive confrontation that Stiles definitely doesn't want to have in public. Scott only hesitates for a second, glancing at the sheriff before he nods. 

Stiles nearly offers Scott his first born child. Then and there. 

The sheriff drives them over to a diner on the main street of town that sells the curly fries Stiles loves but hasn't had in years. They're better than he remembers and he's practically stuffing his face as soon as the waitress sets them down at their table. 

Scott is a lifesaver. He prattles on about work, about this new dating app he's started using since he's trying to get back into it again after he and Allison spectacularly broke up last year. He smooths over any of the awkward bumps between Stiles and his dad in the conversation and Stiles is so grateful he wants to kiss him. 

Dinner is much more survivable with Scott there. And Stiles is glad that out of everyone in this godforsaken town, that he made the effort to keep in contact with Scott. He's always going to be a good buddy. No matter the distance. 

Lydia calls him in the middle of dinner, when Scott has disappeared into the bathroom and is no longer present to field his father’s questions of what he’s been up to for the past four years. Stiles nearly sings her praises at the interruption when he needs to excuse himself to go outside and answer it.

“I literally love you right now,” he says upon answering. “You just saved me from an emotionally awkward patch up and catch up conversation.”

“Your dad?” Lydia wonders. “I thought you weren’t so angry at him anymore. You’d been talking about inviting him to New York for Christmas the past few months.”

“Yeah, I know,” he sighs. “It’s just a lot. Seeing him again, being reminded of everything.”

Turns out there's a lot of things that Stiles is being reminded of. Like how stubborn Derek Hale is for one. And how quickly his dad wanted to avoid any discussion about Stiles' husband. Just like old times. 

“Well if he’s anything like my dad-“

Stiles lets out a painful groan and Lydia laughs at the message he is attempting to convey. “How’s work in the lab going?”

“Busy. Irritating. I keep delegating these simple tasks to Higgins and he keeps intentionally mixing them up and then complaining about my instructions. It’s just another micro aggression. He can’t handle the idea of a woman in power.”

God, he'd so much rather be in New York, hearing her complain in person. “I’d love to be handling a women in power right now.”

She laughs again. “That’s awful. Did you come up with that yourself?”

“Yep,” he declares proudly, feeling a lot less charming than any of the words coming out of his mouth. It's been a long day.

“Are you alright?” she wonders after a moment of silence. “Usually you’re talking a hundred miles a minute.”

He wishes he hadn’t lied about the real reason he’s in Beacon Hills right now. But Lydia doesn’t even know he’s married, and it’s way too late to tell her about it when he's already left to return to his secret husband. She’s going to want to know why he kept it hidden for so long. 

And Stiles doesn't exactly have an appropriate answer to that.

This is a mess.

“I’m fine, I just miss you.”

“I miss you too,” she says. There’s the sound of a bottle popping in the background. “I’d better go. My dad’s about to start critiquing the waiter on how best to open a bottle of expensive champagne.”

“Save them,” he says, reasonably.

He can hear the smile in her voice as she pulls away. “I’ll do my best. Love you.”

“Love you. Bye.”

And then he’s left alone again. With his estranged father. And his saviour Scott. Once he finally returns from the bathroom.

“That was a lie, Stilinski,” comes a familiar voice.

Stiles jumps a foot in the air, turning to catch Erica grinning at him.

“Hey,” he says, surprised and unsure if he should go in for a hug but Erica’s already punching him hard in the shoulder. Jesus. Violence shouldn't be her go to greeting. Especially when Stiles bruises so easy.

“Guess you’re not too good for Beacon Hills after all.”

What has Derek been telling everyone? That Stiles suddenly decided he was above werewolves and curly fries?

“I never thought that,” he says hotly. “I just left. And I wasn’t lying.”

Erica’s smile is werewolf sharp. “Sure Stiles. And you really did miss that girl on the other end of the line.”

“My fiancée,” he snaps, annoyed.

Erica only laughs when he shows her the new ring on his finger. “That’s even worse, batman.”

She slinks off into the parking lot before Stiles can keep arguing. Which is not only rude, but leaves him feeling extremely put out about the situation. He stomps back inside before anyone else in the pack turns up out of the blue to insult him.

This has been a _very_ long day.

  
  
  


His father drives them back to his childhood home, dropping Scott back at the station on the way there and Stiles doesn’t think about his rental car sitting in Derek’s driveway. They don’t talk much once Scott is gone.

They actually didn’t talk much in the restaurant either. Just trivial things. Nothing about why Stiles left. Nothing about why he left his father too. They’re going to have to talk about it eventually.

His dad parks in the driveway and Stiles gets his bag out of the back and follows him up to the house. The Sheriff unlocks the front door and Stiles can see it’s pretty much the same as he remembers. There are a few small changes though.

When he turns on the light Stiles looks into the kitchen and sees a row of cards placed carefully on the windowsill. He recognises them as the birthday cards he’s sent his father every year with a remorseful jolt.

“Uh, I’m really tired, Dad,” he says, faking a yawn. “I’m just gonna go to bed.”

“Sure, goodnight,” his father replies. “I’m really- glad you’re back, son.”

God.

“I’m not back,” he promises. “I’m just here. Temporarily.”

His father nods acceptingly but his eyes seem sad. Stiles turns and heads upstairs to the spare bedroom before he can say something else to hurt him.

This isn't at all what he wanted. 

  
  
  


Stiles makes his way back over to Derek’s house the next day, but since the car he rented is still there he’s forced to walk. So he loads his book back up with things he might need, slings it over his shoulder and takes off towards Derek's place. The woods seem more inviting than they used to though that’s more likely to do with the fact that the sun is still out and it hasn’t descended into a horror movie backlot yet. Give it time.

He’s surprised there aren’t any big bads roaming through town at the moment. Beacon Hills isn’t the monster fest it used to be.

Stiles makes it back to Derek’s place and since nobody comes out to shout at him for trespassing, he assumes Derek is not home. Derek’s always had the inheritance money, enough to never work again if he didn’t want to, but Stiles figures he wants to avoid the chance of his ex-husband dropping by without warning again.

He’s probably hiding out at Boyd’s place.

Stiles reaches the driveway and stops by the rental car. He tugs out the divorce papers he brought with him and pins it to the windshield underneath one of the wipers before heading towards the house.

He pulls out a jar of mountain ash resting in his bag, unscrews the cap and starts towards the porch. He empties the jar in one movement, concentrating on what he wants, willing the ash to create a boundary around the porch. Surrounding it.

If Stiles can’t get his divorce then Derek can’t get into his house. Maybe then, he might consider being a little more helpful than he was yesterday. Stiles climbs up the stairs and moves towards the wooden chair again but Derek learnt his lesson this time and there’s no key strapped underneath it.

That doesn’t deter him though, locks won’t stop Stiles if he’s set his mind. He brought his own lock picks just for this occasion, anticipating Derek wouldn’t be amenable to his demands. A minute later and the front door is open.

Derek should really get a deadbolt.

Stiles steps back into the familiar hallway again feeling distinctly unwelcome even if the house looks plenty inviting. Derek’s the one who forced his hand here, it’s his fault there’s breaking and entering happening right now.

Derek used to say he was a little shit sometimes and not always fondly. If he won’t give Stiles his divorce, then Stiles is going to be the biggest little shit that ever lived.

So he heads straight for the kitchen first, which is remarkably well stocked for a man Stiles used to think wouldn’t outlive his dad based on diet alone if he wasn’t already a werewolf.

There’s even a bowl of fruit sitting on the counter. When Stiles opens the door he almost thinks he’s seeing the wrong fridge. It’s awash with greens and fresh produce, much more than Stiles ever managed to force upon his father as well as the leftovers of a few balanced meals.

Derek’s gone healthy. He’s actually living in a sweet little house and taking care of himself. This is wild.

Stiles laughs and he knows it sounds a little crazed when it echoes through the kitchen. Then he notices the jug full of fruit infused water. Derek’s cut up strawberries, cucumbers and what looks suspiciously like mint and let the flavours infuse.

He opens a few cupboards before he manages to locate a glass and proceeds to pour himself as much of it as possible. He can smell the mint in the air. Then Stiles bends down to reach the bottom shelf of the refrigerator. Derek used to hide his guilty pleasures at the very back of the bottom shelf. 

He sticks his hand carefully inside and comes away with contraband. Snickers bar.

Grinning, he takes the chocolate and his drink and heads back out to the wooden seat on the porch. Nice. He takes a seat and gets himself comfortable. The wooden chair has a cushion that hug Stiles’ ass so well that he almost wants to take it home with him.

He drinks the fruit infused water, which is beyond incredible and lets himself relax while he prepares for Derek to get home. He can hear the trees rustling and there’s a soft breeze gently raising the sleeves of his shirt, and his hair. His body, which became warm from the trek from his dad’s place over here, begins to cool down again.

He’s there less than twenty minutes before Derek pulls up in a truck. At that point Stiles is halfway through Derek’s chocolate bar. What happened to the Camaro? Stiles’ heart beats a little faster at the confrontation coming his way and manages a lazy wave in Derek’s direction as he resumes chewing.

From where he’s sitting, he can see the surprise on Derek’s face before he starts cursing. He looks kind of dirty too. If Stiles didn’t know better he’d guess he was burying another body. Where the hell has he been all day? 

When he switches off the engine and jumps out of the car Stiles gets his answer. Derek’s wearing a high vis vest over a white t-shirt and tight jeans, with thick heavy boots on his feet. He’s been sweating too, he’s covered in dirt and other things and he looks fucking incredible.

“You’re in construction now?” Stiles says, startled. “You work?”

Derek unleashes his eyebrows of doom and general sunny disposition. “I work, Stiles. What the hell do you want.”

He finally glances at the glass of magic water and the chocolate bar in Stiles’ hands and seems to put it together. “Have you been in my house?”

“Our house,” Stiles clarifies unhelpfully, jumping to his feet and stepping towards the edge of the porch. “What happened to the Camaro?”

Derek glares at the half eaten snickers bar in Stiles’ hand and turns to walk around to the back of the ute. He pulls out a toolbox and starts towards the garage when he finally sees the line of mountain ash surrounding the house.

He stops right at the line and sets the toolbox down in the grass. Stiles watches his temper build and obligingly gestures at the divorce papers pinned under the wipers on his rental car. Derek stares at them for a short time before turning back to face Stiles.

He can feel a fight coming.

“Stiles,” Derek says, furiously. “Let me in.”

“Nope,” he replies cheerfully. “Not until you sign those papers.”

Derek stomps over to the car and Stiles’ stomach plummets when he tugs the papers free without a word. He returns to the boundary again so Stiles can see him clearly when he tears the divorce papers in half.

Stiles rolls his eyes, pulling out a fresh copy from his bag and brandishing that, and the chocolate bar in Derek’s direction. “You aren’t going to win this round, buddy,” he says. “I came prepared.”

“With lock picks?” Derek snaps, irritated as he scrunches up the destroyed paperwork and goes to put it in the recycling bin.

Stiles it too busy marvelling that he can be eco conscious in the middle of a heated argument that he forgets to reply. Derek’s got his phone out by the time he returns and he’s clearly calling in the cavalry.

“Sayena?” he says, turning away like he wants Stiles to give him privacy, which is laughable really. “I need you to come over to the house.”

He hangs up shortly afterward and makes himself comfortable on the bonnet of Stiles’ car.

“That’s a rental,” he protests around a mouthful of chocolate.

Derek folds his arms and stares coolly back. “That’s my house.”

“How many girlfriends do you have?” Stiles grumbles, annoyed all of a sudden that this isn’t going the way he planned.

He certainly didn’t want to meet one of Derek’s new main squeezes. This is the worst. Derek seems to have calmed down some since he’s got someone coming over to fix the Stiles shaped problem screwing with his evening. But he raises an eyebrow at Stiles’ comment anyway.

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” he says too quickly. “I want a divorce. Should I just toss the papers over to you?”

Derek’s expression doesn’t change. “Not if you want that copy ripped up as well.”

God, he’s a frustrating dude. “So what? I’m your prisoner husband forever? You’re never gonna set me free?”

Derek lies back completely at that, folding his hands under his head and staring up at the sky. “I said I was going to sign them after you saw your father.”

“I saw him!” Stiles snaps. “And you still tore the thing up.”

“You put a ring of mountain ash around my home,” Derek retorts. “Because you couldn’t take me at my word. You had to pull this shit instead.”

God, like this is all about people keeping their word. What about Derek vowing to love him forever? He's such a hypocrite. “You kept sending the papers back. For years.”

“Because this is hard,” Derek shouts, sitting up suddenly. “I never thought we’d end up like this. Forgive me for having some trouble coming to terms with losing you.”

“Losing me?” Stiles cries, knocking over the glass of fruit water he’s so upset. It smashes into a billion pieces, scattering fruit and glass across the porch. “You kicked _me_ out. Then you trashed the home we’d made together. You all but _sent_ me away.”

Derek’s mouth cracks open and he looks more distressed than Stiles ever remembers him looking before.

“So this is the hubby?” a strange voice says with interest and Stiles suddenly realises there’s a girl standing in the middle of the grass right near the boundary. 

Did she just pop into existence out of the nearby trees or what? Derek startles like he didn’t even hear her coming. And he’s a goddamn werewolf.

“Where the hell did you come from?” Stiles says rudely.

The girl, Sayena or whatever Derek called her, grins at him. “I live on the other side of those woods there.”

Stiles glances between her and Derek pointedly. “Convenient.”

“Ooh he’s a spitfire, isn’t he?” she says, reaching Derek who’s slid off Stiles’ rental car at the sight of her.

“ _He’s_ standing right here,” Stiles mutters, irritated and wanting to know why Derek got so upset before. The truth too much for him?

Sayena and Derek don’t hug or anything which is much more than Stiles could handle right now. He wants to be outside the mountain ash just so he can stalk over there and stand between them. Instead, he disappears back into the house to clean up the mess he made.

He finds the dustpan where they used to keep it in their apartment, in the food pantry, and comes back outside. He sweeps the glass and fruit up with more force than necessary and ignores the two of them having a whispered conversation over by his rental car.

Once he’s dumped the contents into the bin and come back outside, Sayena has approached his line.

“You a witch?” Stiles guesses, tasting the shift in the air around her.

Sayena shrugs, modestly. “Here and there. But mostly there.”

Stiles has no idea what she’s saying but she’s here to put a dent in his plans so officially he Does Not Like Her.

“What are you?” she wonders, tilting her head at him curiously.

Ain't that the question. Stiles shrugs right back, but maybe without any of the modesty.

She takes a step closer to the boundary, so that it’s within reach of her foot and Stiles’ temper flares at the thought that she’s going to ruin this for him. The breeze stops all of a sudden and the air begins to hum with something that tastes a lot like Stiles’ anger.

Sayena’s eyebrows climb high in surprise but she can’t manage to get towards the line of mountain ash in order to disturb it. Something invisible curls over her body that’s thick and swampy and she can’t move through it. When she gives up and finally steps back, she’s red faced and visibly sweating.

The atmosphere crackles with energy and Stiles’ boundary holds.

“You didn’t tell me how powerful he was,” Sayena pants. “Whatever he is.”

Stiles doesn’t admit he has no idea what he was doing just then, let alone being able to consciously control it. Derek reaches her side and checks she’s alright before levelling Stiles with a slow look.

“He’s human,” he says, not breaking eye contact. “With a spark.”

“Some spark,” she says, wiping sweat off her forehead. “Sorry man. You’re on your own.”

She pats Derek’s bare arm comfortingly and Derek stands there and lets her do it. Because he’s super tactile now. The crackle is back.

“Possessive husband too, isn’t he?” she remarks, somewhat amused as she draws her hand back. “Sure all he wants is your signature?”

And now Stiles has had enough of this. 

“Whatever, just sign the papers," he mutters. "I’ll be back tomorrow.” 

The breeze returns and Stiles scoops up his bag, yanking out the empty jar of mountain ash. He stomps past the line, sweeping his hand as he goes and the boundary crumbles with the ash somehow ending up back in the jar in its entirety.

Stiles doesn’t really get how it works, but if he wants something hard enough sometimes it just happens. He’s not going to complain. He unlocks the rental and climbs into the driver’s seat. And slams the door hard enough that it rattles.

Derek’s staring at him when he starts the car and reverses out of the drive, but it’s Sayena’s grin that pisses him off the most.

He’ll get that signature even if he has to cover Derek’s entire house with mountain ash to do it.

This wedding is happening whether Derek likes it or not.

  
  
  


His father comes home smelling of smoke. Stiles thinks he’s burned the dinner he’s cooking until he realises the smell is coming off of his uniform.

“What happened?” he asks, catching sight of his father’s tired face.

“Couple of anti-wolfers came into town. Burnt down the house on Barren Road with the werewolf couple in it.”

Stiles heart pumps faster. “Are they-?”

“They’re fine. But their house is destroyed. I wish I could do more but there aren’t laws preventing them from these kinds of attacks. Even if I did catch them they’d get off on an attempted murder technicality. Only the arson would stick.”

“Because they haven’t technically tried to kill a human being,” Stiles realises. “Jesus.”

“Yeah,” the Sheriff agrees, sitting down heavily. “That’s the second werewolf home to go up in a fireball in the last three months. And not only in Beacon Hills. In the towns nearby as well. I got off the phone with the Bridgeport County Sheriff and he’s had six in the last year.”

“ _Six_ ,” Stiles repeats, aghast. “Any casualties?”

“None so far. But that’s not going to last long. These anti-were groups are getting more dangerous and we don’t have the law on our side to protect all our citizens like we should.”

The situation is beyond fucked. These are the kind of problems Ross Martin should be trying to fix. But he’s too busy eating caviar and making subpar witty jokes that waiters politely laugh at otherwise they'd lose their jobs.

“What will they do?” Stiles wonders. “Are they insured?”

“Werewolves can’t get reasonable insurance deals on a good day. Insurance companies don’t want to insure against supernaturally strong werewolves who potentially break things and get into a fair few scrapes. What they’ve got won’t cover the whole house. But the Rebuilders are on it.”

Stiles frowns. “The what?”

“The Rebuilders. They’re a non-profit who come in and help werewolves in exactly these type of situations. They rebuild their homes, cover the costs their insurance can’t or won’t cover and the use protective enchantments on the materials they use to protect the house from another attack like that again. They also offer counselling for the werewolves who might have experienced some kind of trauma from the event as well.”

Holy shit. Maybe there is some good in the world. Stiles can't believe it.

“Wow,” he says. “If only these Rebuilders had been around when Derek was a teenager.”

His father gives him a strange look at the words, but Derek isn't exactly a taboo subject between them. Stiles doesn’t take it personally. He’s too busy thinking about the pack. Do they know about these cases of arson? Have they taken precautions to protect themselves against attacks from humans?

Stiles has almost forgotten what it’s like to live among werewolves. The city that never sleeps is too much for their senses. He’s never met a werewolf that lives in New York permanently and he certainly doesn’t see many wolves walking down Broadway.

Their problems have become kind of distant now that Stiles was no longer exposed to them. He can’t believe it’s gotten like this though.

Being a werewolf has become much more dangerous.

  
  
  


Lydia calls him in the morning after he's said goodbye to his father heading off to work, and she wants to know how things are going. Stiles really doesn't have much to say, except that they're sleeping under the same roof and not once have they addressed the reason why Stiles hasn't contacted him in four years. 

Apparently they're both really good at denial. Stilinski tradition. Lydia gives a few encouraging tips and tells Stiles that she loves him which only makes him feel more undeserving of her love. Lydia wouldn't have married a woman and then never told Stiles about it. Lydia would have gotten her divorce and been done with it. 

Stiles is the one who can't get the divorce. Lydia would never have permitted herself to be chased off by a witchy girlfriend. She'd have stood her ground until the both of them were making apologies and grovelling at her feet. Stiles wishes he'd been able to do something like that. 

But instead he takes Lydia's well wishing and prays to the higher powers that Derek will sign the papers soon. As soon as he can leave Beacon Hills behind again the better. Anything to avoid dealing with his dad. 

He pokes his ways around the house for most of the day. Bored, because he's on college break for two weeks and doesn't have any work to do. And he doesn't have work to do here in Beacon Hills to occupy his time either, besides begging Derek to sign their divorce papers. And Stiles isn't desperate enough to do that yet. 

On a whim, he decides to makes lunch for him and his dad, thinking maybe they might start actually talking about things if he heads over to the station during his lunch break. So he fiddles around in the kitchen, makes them a chicken salad and seals it up in a travel container before climbing into the rental and heading on over to the station, thinking he’ll surprise him and they can eat together.

But he runs into Parrish instead on his way to his dad’s office, which looks empty. “Hey, man,” he says, as Parrish jumps to his feet at the sight of him. “Is my dad in or is he out on a call?”

He seems a lot more tense than he did the other day when Stiles first saw him again. “He’s not here,” Parrish says, looking awkward as if Stiles has committed some kind of unspoken faux pas by showing up unnannounced. Or like there’s something Stiles should know that he doesn’t.

“He’s always out on Wednesdays,” Parrish admits. “Having lunch...with Derek.”

Stiles blinks at him. “Wha- _my_ Derek?”

He winces at the poor phrasing but Parrish seems to know who he’s talking about because he nods in confirmation. Stiles doesn’t know what to do. His dad is out on lunch, with Derek. And that's something he does regularly. Hanging out with Stiles' husband. Who he disapproved of for the duration of their marriage. What the hell?

He’s backing away from Parrish, mind spinning with everything he's learned. This isn't just a betrayal. It doesn't make any _sense_. Derek and his father. Hanging out. Having lunch together. 

“Should I tell him you stopped by?” Parrish wonders, not realising the bombshell he’s just dropped.

“No,” Stiles says quickly. “Forget it. I’ll- I’ll see him tonight.”

Then he leaves. Before he finds out anything else he’d rather not know.

  
  
  


“You like Derek,” he says slowly as soon as his father walks in through the front door. “Derek Hale.”

His father grimaces at the accusation there but doesn't immediately respond. "I brought you lunch today," Stiles says. "Only you weren't there because you were out already. With Derek." 

Stiles feels the 'what the fuck' portion of his question is implied, but he's still tempted to shout it out anyway. 

The expression on his father's face is not at all encouraging. “Look, Stiles it’s complicated-“

There's no way in hell he's accepting that as an explanation. Not after everything he's been through. “So when I was married to him,” he continues, voice rising. “He wasn’t good enough. He was taking advantage of me. ‘He’ll never be able to love you like you want, Stiles'. That’s what you said-“

“Stiles-“

“That’s what you fucking said, Dad. On my wedding day. Do you know how much that messed with my head? My dad thinking my husband was some predatory monster who was manipulating me?”

There’s a flash of accompanying fire in his father’s eyes. “I never said that, Stiles. He’s not a monster, and he certainly never manipulated you. But you know you were too young for that kind of commitment. You were barely twenty and Beacon Hills was still a monster town. Derek was continually putting you in danger-“

“It wasn’t his fault!” Stiles shouts. “He _never_ wanted me involved. You never saw how many hits he took that were meant for me. How many times the healing put his body back together again. You were against us from the start, how could I _not_ notice that? Did you really think that wouldn’t eventually come between us? You’re my _dad_! And you never once tried to like him. You never gave him a fucking chance!”

“Is that why you never come ‘round anymore?” his dad demands. “Why I’ve got to hear what’s going on in your life through Scott? Why I haven’t seen you once since you left Derek and Beacon Hills behind?”

“I loved him!” Stiles cries. “He was everything to me and he still wasn’t good enough for you. He didn’t have a job, he wasn’t in therapy and he was too emotionally stunted- everyone knew that’s what you thought about him. You didn’t think we’d last a month, I knew that.”

“He was a mess, Stiles,” he says gently. “He barely had enough clothes for his back and he had the money, the Hales were a well off family before the fire. He just refused to take care of himself. He lived in Beacon Hills Railroad Depot for a few months. Before that he was sleeping on a mattress in the burnt down shell of the Hale house, Stiles. He didn’t know how to be a husband.”

God, and he always blamed Derek for that. As if he should become some perfect son in law just because his father willed it to happen. Life isn't like that. Stiles knows Derek didn't fit his father's checklist, but he fit Stiles'. And that was all that mattered. To Stiles at least. 

“But he wanted to try, how could you fault him for that? Do you know how much liking me was already messing with Derek’s head? He was so afraid of being exactly like Kate that he never so much as kissed me until I was nineteen. And that was after an attack with the manticore and he was so glad that I wasn’t going to die that he forgot himself for a bit." 

Stiles remembered how surprised he'd been. How hopeful afterward. 

"I’d been in love with him for two years and it took me so long to convince him a date wouldn’t end in disaster but you didn’t even hesitate to show your disapproval. You were the first to spout of ‘taking advantage’ when you knew what had happened to him. He couldn’t look at me for days after that. _Days_.”

“Because he wasn’t in a good place then, Stiles,” he protests. “We all knew that. He was one bad day away from imploding. Marjorie’s helped him so much. If he wasn’t in therapy I-“

Stiles loses some of his steam. “Derek’s in therapy?” he demands, shocked.

Is that who Marjorie is? He didn’t think he’d ever see that day. Derek was always against talking about the things that have been done to him, even if they were twisting him up inside.

His father’s expression closes off like he’s made a mistake. “That’s not any of your business, Stiles. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Not any of my- I’m his fucking husband!” he shouts. “If Marjorie is his therapist why should he hide that from me?”

Why didn't he say that when Stiles assumed Marjorie was his girlfriend? 

“But you don’t want to be married to him anymore, Stiles,” his father says sternly. “You’ve moved on with someone else. It’s not fair to him for you to try and uncover things he doesn’t want to share with you.”

As if his dad has any right to tell him what he should or shouldn't talk about with people. Derek’s in therapy now. And he has a comfy house in the middle of the woods and his father is telling him he can’t know any of it. None of this is coming together at all.

“He wasn’t ready for a committed relationship then,” his dad continues. “He needed professional help to deal with his problems first. That’s why I thought you shouldn’t rush into things.”

“But that wasn’t for you to tell me,” he yells. “You know I never thought he’d ever look my way and when we got married I couldn’t believe it. I knew you disapproved of him, but I was willing to give him the time to convince you of the type of man he was. But after what you said at the wedding, everything came crashing down around us. I couldn’t get past it. I couldn’t get it out of my head. You ruined it for us.”

“You blame me,” the Sheriff realises. “Stiles, those problems between you both were there well before I said anything. If it wasn’t a little bit true you wouldn’t have thought on it for another second. You wouldn’t have given up on him. You wouldn’t have left.”

Stiles’ mouth falls open. “Given up on him. You’re taking his side? So you’re friends with him now and he’s the perfect son in law that you never thought he’d be, is that it? What about loyalty, dad? I’m your fucking kid. Did you not see how this was going to hurt me? Knowing you’re all buddy buddy now with my ex.”

But his father only frowns at him, expression grim. “It was a tough time, Stiles. We’d all lost you. He helped me through it in a lot of ways that I can never thank him enough for.”

“But why didn’t you like him when it _mattered_?” Stiles cries. “I was gonna grow fucking old with him, Dad. But you didn’t even want to be in the same room. And don’t you dare blame it on the werewolf thing. It was never a problem with Scott.”

The sheriff sighs heavily and sits down. “I could see how it was going to end. I knew how much you loved him and I didn’t want to see you hurt. It wasn’t that he wasn’t good enough, Stiles, it’s that he wasn’t enough for you.”

“I-“ his eyes are wet. “He was always enough for me.”

God, how could anyone ever think otherwise? 

“Then what happened, kid? If he was everything you needed why did you leave?”

Stiles laughs hysterically. “I _didn’t_. We had a huge fight. Derek kicked me out. I thought he wanted space for a couple hours while he cooled off but when I came home he’d trashed our place and he was gone. Figured that was his answer. So I took what he hadn’t broken, packed my bags and I went straight to New York.”

The sheriff frowns, folding his arms seriously. “I don’t think you’ve got that story straight, kid.”

Stiles glares at him. For even daring to insinuate that he got that situation wrong. “Even if it was a misunderstanding. He still didn’t come after me.”

“Why didn’t you come home?” his dad asks, and Stiles knows that hurt him more than anything, but he just can’t find it in himself to care right now. “Why did you leave without coming to me?”

“I didn’t want to prove you right,” Stiles mutters, and the tears are rolling now.

“Stiles,” his dad starts. “You don’t have all of the information about what went down that night or the days leading after. You don’t-“

“I don’t care,” he snaps. “It’s done. It’s my past now. I’m marrying someone else and I’m going to get my divorce even if I have to upend this entire goddamn town to do it.”

His dad reels back, shocked but Stiles is already storming upstairs to his old bedroom. He hadn’t unpacked much but he stuffs the few items lying about back into his bag and stomps back downstairs.

“I’m going to stay at Scott’s,” he mutters. “Have fun with Derek or whatever.”

“Stiles-“

He doesn’t wait for the rest. Stiles storms outside, slamming the front door behind him and climbing into his rental car.

Fuck all of this.

  
  
  


Scott’s got his own place right on the edge of the Preserve and Stiles needs him to text his address because he’s never actually been there before.

Scott’s waiting out the front and he doesn’t ask anything when Stiles pulls into the drive, seemingly sensing he’s upset. He grabs Stiles bag off of the back seat and leads them into the house.

Stiles is surprised. It’s actually a really nice place. Lydia would even say it was tastefully decorated.

“Are you dating an interior designer?” Stiles jokes but Scott doesn’t laugh and the humour kind of falls flat.

Everything’s falling kind of flat lately.

He smothers the weirdness between them by focusing on Scott’s apartment. It’s homey but open living, there are nooks all over the place decorated with soft, unobtrusive colours. Plain and simple with splashes of innovation and style. It’s kind of artistic actually. Stiles wishes he lived here.

Scott quietly leads him into a guest room and sets Stiles’ bag down onto the bed. He’s too busy staring at the rest of the room to notice. Seriously, who designed this? This place is lovely. It’s better than some of the stylish lofts he’s been in in New York.

“Did- did something happen with your dad?” Scott finally asks, stepping out of the guest room like he’s planning on giving Stiles his space.

“We kind of had it out,” he admits. “About everything that happened. About Derek.”

Scott frowns. “Derek?”

Stiles follows Scott back out into the living room, crashing down onto the plush couch in a heap. “Yeah, they’re friends now, did you know that?”

The way Scott suddenly avoids his gaze is a pretty convenient answer. “Right, of course you did. I’m just mad, you know? Like at the hypocrisy of it all. Dad was so against Derek, like from the get go. Getting here and seeing him all friendly and supportive of my ex just feels like a huge slap in the face. Like what would have happened if he’d approved of Derek back then if he’d seen him like he does now-?“

He realises what he’s saying, what he’s suggesting and quickly shuts his mouth. This isn’t about what could have been. It can’t be about that.

“You got any beer?” he wonders, mustering a heavy sigh as he gets comfortable. “Dad didn’t have anything in the house.”

Scott pauses. “Uh Stiles your dad doesn’t drink anymore. Didn’t he tell you that?”

He sits up straighter. “What? No. He didn’t tell me that. How long-?”

“Nearly a year,” Scott says. “Derek took him to a meeting-“

“Derek?” Stiles hisses, nearly falling out of his seat. “He took my dad to AA-? No, I don’t want to know. I can’t.”

“Okay,” Scott says, getting to his feet and disappearing into the kitchen while Stiles has an internal meltdown about Derek finally being the one to convince his dad he might have a drinking problem.

When he returns with an old brand they used to drink together, Stiles lets out a crow of delight. “Blue Moon!” he says. “I haven’t drunk this in years.”

Scott clinks their bottles together before he sits down. “What do you drink now?”

He doesn’t say he usually drinks whichever expensive drink Lydia is buying that night. Dating a filthy rich socialite who doubles as a kick ass scientist means pretentious drinks kind of come with the territory. A lot of the time Lydia doesn’t even have to pay for it, it’s usually complementary.

Stiles shrugs and takes a drink. It’s just like he remembers and it sits warmly in his stomach.

“Dad said something though,” he mentions casually. “About how I didn’t know the whole story of what happened the night I left.”

Scott’s expression changes. “I think if you want to know that then you should talk to Derek.”

Because not even Scott is on his side anymore. Derek’s won everybody over since he left. Stiles knows he should have expected this but it still hurts anyway. “So what you’re not even telling me things anymore?”

“Like you didn’t tell me you left town?” Scott shoots back.

Stiles flinches.

“Wait, that wasn’t fair,” he admits, sighing. “But what went down is between you and Derek.”

“So you won’t tell me.”

Scott levels him with a significant look. “Would it change anything? You still want a divorce, you’re still going to marry someone else. You really want to dig all that up again just to hurt him?”

“What about me?” Stiles demands. “You think none of this is hurting me? Maybe I need the closure.”

Scott abandons his beer and stands up. “You’re the one who left Stiles and you didn’t seem very torn up about it because you never came back. I’m going to bed. There’s towels in the bathroom nook.”

“Bathroom nook?” he snorts.

“Yeah, after Derek finished with his own house he helped me decorate this place. This is my home, dude, and I like it this way.”

Heat crawls across his cheeks. “Right. Scott, I wasn’t-“

“Goodnight.”

Stiles watches Scott disappear up the stairs and winces. He didn’t mean to make fun. And he has no idea how Derek possibly helped him decorate. The same Derek who used to keep wearing shirts after they’d been ripped by werewolves or other monster claws and teeth.

So much has changed.

Stiles finishes off his beer, puts it in the recycling and heads to bed. He gets dressed into pyjamas and climbs under the covers and curls up. 

He forgets to send Lydia the nightly text before he falls asleep.

  
  
  


Stiles catches sight of Cora and Derek in town while Scott is in the cafe buying them coffee before he heads off to the clinic and it’s by some miracle that they don’t notice him. The sound of passing traffic must block his heartbeat out but it also makes it impossible to hear what they’re saying.

So Stiles steps closer, out of sight, so that he can hear their conversation. Because that's a thing normal people do upon sighting their husbands who won't sign divorce papers.

“Derek you can’t be serious,” Cora is saying, taking hold of Derek's arm and looking for all intents and purposes as if she's going to physically shake some sense into him. 

That would be the day.

“What?” Derek wonders, sounding defensive as he jerks his arm free of her.

“He put up a ring of mountain ash around your house.”

And they’re talking about Stiles. Of course they’re talking about him. Who else? He’s probably the talk of the whole damn town right now. Who doesn't love to gossip about a failed marriage?

“He’s not perfect.”

Well. Yes, that's definitely true. Derek's never been one to sugarcoat things. Stiles isn't even really that surprised by the words. People like Lydia only deserve the moniker of perfection. Not a fiancé with an already secret husband like Stiles. 

“Derek, some people might see that as a negative quality.”

It’s not hurtful exactly to hear that Cora’s badmouthing him, but he has to admit Derek coming to his defence is kind of unexpected. Or undeserved. Stiles can’t decide which.

“Kate seemed perfect,” he hears Derek say quietly and he nearly falls over at the words. “So, no, I wouldn’t see that as a negative quality.”

“Okay,” she relents. “Just as long as you know what you’re doing.”

What is Derek doing? Besides stubbornly refusing to sign his divorce papers? Stiles would really like to know. 

“I do,” Derek promises.

What the hell are they talking about? Scott comes out of the cafe and Stiles tries to hurry over to him and pretend he wasn't eavesdropping on his husband's conversation. But the look on Scott's face tells him he's been caught out.

Yeah, Stiles is definitely not perfect. 

  
  
  


Stiles doesn't see his dad for a few days. Still needing time to cool off from their fight. 

Scott doesn't mind having an extra guest, though Stiles feels like a party crasher when he brings one of his dates home for coffee and Stiles accidentally comes out into the kitchen in only his boxers. The girl didn't even let Scott explain the situation before she left and Stiles sheepishly kept apologising for the rest of the night. 

Besides that, staying at Scott's is great. 

Except for when he very clearly goes out to pack meetings and lingers by the door like he's trying to invite Stiles along with his eyes. That is not a good idea. Stiles hasn't seen the rest of the pack yet, besides Erica and he's more than certain that they're all angry at him for leaving. Of course they'd take Derek's side when he's the only one around to explain himself. 

Stiles isn't expecting a welcome. So he just waves Scott on and calls Lydia to see how she's going. Which is great. Lydia's always great. Things have this magical way of always working out of her. Stiles tries not to feel resentful about it. 

She hangs up eventually, having an early lab in the morning so Stiles bums around Scott's house for a while before climbing in the shower. He ends up sitting on Scott's couch in his boxers watching reruns of Buffy and eating a bowl of Cocoa Krispies. This is his life now. 

Someone rings the doorbell when Stiles is on his second bowl. He doesn't bother putting on a shirt because he's lost all sense of dignity. He even carries the bowl with him to the door to answer it. 

He's not expecting to see Derek. Stiles is so surprised he nearly swallows the spoon. 

Derek's eyebrows do some kind of panicked dance once he sees Stiles' naked chest before he's determinedly focusing on Stiles' eyes. 

"What are you doing here?" Stiles wonders, rudely. "It better be to sign the papers." 

The fact that Derek just gives him a cool look proves that he is very much not interested in making Stiles' life easier. "You should talk to your dad." 

Stiles nearly drops the bowl. "What?" 

Derek shifts sort of restlessly and Stiles cannot believe the fucking nerve of him. "He's really upset, Stiles. You should try and talk to him." 

"I did talk to him," he snaps. "And not only is that none of your fucking business, the fact that you'd have the balls to show up here, papers unsigned, and ask me to forgive my dad for all his bullshit is _laughable_." 

Derek sighs, like Stiles is the one being unreasonable. "He's your father, Stiles. He's the only family you've got. I don't blame him for what happened between us." 

Holy shit, how is this even happening right now? "I don't give a fuck if you blame him, Derek. He's not your dad." 

He takes a step back at the words, as if Derek's worried Stiles is going to toss the bowl of cereal on his head. It's definitely tempting. "Look, I know it's not my place to say this. I know it's shitty of me to do. But Stiles, you have a father, and he's alive and healthy and he loves you, whatever mistakes he's made." 

He's so sincere that Stiles can't throw it back in his face. Because Derek lost all his family. The fact that he showed up here tonight to try and talk about Stiles' dad's feelings is mind blowing. What the hell kind of therapist is he seeing? 

"I'll- think about it, okay?" he mutters. 

Derek steps back, visibly relieved and Stiles doesn't know how he's suddenly become so expressive. Well, okay. He's assuming therapy has something to do with it. He's just struggling to understand how much Derek might have changed. 

"You can come and see the pack, you know," Derek says, unexpectedly. "I'm not trying to keep you away from our friends. They've missed you." 

"I know," he says faintly. Surprised and completely astounded by the words coming out of Derek's mouth. 

Derek nods, like that's all he planned to say and then he's turning around and walking back to his truck before Stiles remembers to bring up signing the divorce papers again. 

Dammit.  


  
  
  


Stiles drives over to his dad's house the next night once his shift is finished. He catches his dad just as he's pulling into the driveway. 

He blinks rapidly under Stiles' headlights but pauses once he recognises his own kid getting out of the car. 

"Let's talk," Stiles says, walking towards him. 

His father looks surprised and then relieved. 

"I want you to understand that what you did was wrong," Stiles starts. "Whatever you thought about Derek, you had no right to get as involved as you did. I didn't ask for your advice at the time and I didn't want it. I understand you thought you were helping, but you weren't, Dad. You really weren't." 

His father watches him closely and Stiles wonders if they're ever going to see eye to eye on this. Probably not. Stiles isn't sure he can look past that. 

"You're right," his father admits. "I shouldn't have done it. Those were your decisions, your mistakes to make on you own. I'm sorry I did it, Stiles. I thought I was right, but I know I only made things harder for you. I talked with Derek about it after you left and-" 

"No," Stiles says quickly. "I love you, Dad. But I really can't hear about your friendship with Derek Hale right now. Or ever. It's too soon." 

"Okay," his father agrees easily. "You want to come in for dinner? Talk a bit more?" 

Stiles hesitates, but Derek was right. He's Stiles' dad. And he's the only one he's got. Things got messy before but he thought he was doing the right thing. Stiles knows his meddling came from a place of love, even if he didn't want it. 

Maybe he's ready to forgive. 

"Sure," Stiles says, stepping forward. "I could eat."

  
  
  


Stiles heads into town to help replace the volume of Scott's groceries that he's devoured since staying there. Scott said he didn't mind but guilt is a powerful motivator. And Stiles is also hungry. 

It works out especially well because before he can head inside the store to get started on his shopping, Stiles catches sight of Derek walking down the main street. 

It's a weekday, but Derek isn't working and that hits all of Stiles' curiosity points. 

Not only that, but Stiles is planning on talking about the divorce papers this time without Derek making a quick get away. He's taken to carrying around two copies wherever he goes now in the event that he might come across his slippery husband and politely request his signature. It's either that or threaten to shove his foot up Derek's ass. 

But this is just perfect. 

Stiles crosses the road to get to him. "Oi, Derek," he shouts, loud enough that the passers by on the street turn to look at him. Derek tenses up, sensing danger because he still knows Stiles and just how loud he can be when he sets his mind to it. 

"I want a divorce!" 

Derek spins to face him, glancing at all the attention Stiles has brought on them and frowns. Stiles uses his hesitation to catch up with him. "Hey husband," he says in a milder tone. "Feel like divorcing me today?" 

“I’m going,” Derek says instead, turning away from him, right in the middle of the street like he’s trying to avoid Stiles. As if Stiles is the one making a scene.

He's not getting away this time. No way. “Oh, that’s a hard no. We’re talking about this right now like adults-“

Derek scowls. “You mean after you mountain ashed my house? I can’t.”

Stiles is willing to admit that might have been a little unfair. He didn't exactly give Derek a chance to sign the papers before he commandeered his house. That might have been irrational anger getting the better of him. 

“Would you quit throwing that in my face? I admit it wasn’t the best course of action, okay. I don’t see why you can’t just-“

“I have an appointment,” Derek says firmly, even as he hesitates. “With my therapist.”

Is that what he’s doing in town? Huh. Stiles has to see this for himself. For all Derek knows she could be a kraken in disguise. He’s been manipulated enough by women to last a lifetime.

“I’m coming,” he announces, falling into step beside him when Derek tries to walk away without another word.

The idea does not seem to appeal to Derek because his face scrunches up. “You can’t. It’s a closed session.”

“But not for your husband,” Stiles points out logically.

Derek stares at him. “I’ll sign the papers right now. You don’t need to cause trouble.”

God, would he stop pretending Stiles is out to ruin his life? He just wants a damn divorce. And also, to make sure that Derek's therapist isn't totally evil and psychopathic. “Nope, I want to meet her. And I would never cause trouble.”

At Derek’s expression Stiles amends his statement. “Not with this anyway.”

He seems to relax then, amazingly willing to permit this. “I guess not. That would be pretty shitty of you.”

“Uh huh,” Stiles says, patting his bag absently where he constantly carries a few items to test for the supernatural in creatures that might look human.

Derek side eyes him suspiciously but Stiles only smiles.

"I'm sorry I came over the other night," Derek says, without warning. "I shouldn't have gotten involved. That was a dick move." 

"Yep," Stiles agrees cheerfully. "But I'm still meeting your therapist." 

The office is nice. Simple and decorative enough to keep patient’s attention occupied while they wait. There’s a pile of magazines in the corner and they must put effort into keeping them current because Stiles recognises and celebrity break up he skimmed in the grocery store last week and none of the magazines have been dog eared.

Derek tells the man at the front desk that he’s here and they don’t have to wait very long until his name is being called. Stiles must have just caught him while he was heading straight in for this session.

Marjorie meets them at the door, all polite smiles and she’s beautiful but old enough to be his mother if she was still alive. He might have jumped the gun on Derek’s parade of girlfriends idea. Not that Derek wouldn't date an older woman. But still.

“Oh hello, you’ve brought your husband for this session,” Marjorie says, happily. “Lovely to meet you.”

Derek doesn’t even correct her, the dick. “Yes, he wanted to come along.”

“How did you know I’m his husband?” Stiles asks suspiciously, peering into her office in search of the occult or possible animal sacrifices.

Marjorie only offers another distant smile which is not at all helpful considering her profession. “If you’d like to come in.”

She moves into the office first and Stiles follows straight after her. He gets a handful of salt out of his bag and tosses it at the back of her neck, covering it as a loud sneeze.

“Sorry, allergies,” he mutters and Derek is swatting at his arm and silently gesturing for him to stop whatever it is he's doing. 

Stiles waves him away and follows after Marjorie, pulling out a flask and unscrewing the cap. She barely sits down before Stiles is splashing holy water directly into her face.

“Stiles!” Derek cries, wrapping an arm around his middle and yanking him back as if he's thrown acid in her face and not harmless salty water. Harmless for humans anyway.

Marjorie merely wipes the water off, unaffected, and with some measure of bemusement. Well okay, at least her face didn't melt off. Stiles is willing to admit she might not be completely evil.

“Ah, yes, I can see how you two could’ve gotten married,” she says, smiling.

Derek lets go of Stiles abruptly like he’s realised he’s still holding onto him and when Stiles looks between Marjorie and Derek he sees the guilt.

“What? Did Derek throw holy water on you as well?”

Marjorie smiles. “Maybe not quite like you did.”

Well at least he’s not entirely hopeless. Stiles is glad he even thought to take those kind of precautions in the first place. Derek hasn’t had a great track record.

“What are your qualifications?” he demands, striding over to her desk where her certificates hang on the wall behind it.

A quick internet search and he can uncover pretty much anything about this woman. He's planning on it, as soon as he gets back to Scott's place. Derek has had way too many close calls with people trying to kill him.

“Stiles would you _sit down_ ,” Derek hisses.

“No, that’s okay,” Marjorie says easily. “Whatever Mr Stilinski needs to feel comfortable.”

Oh boy, isn't that a long list. Stiles gets out a sage stick and sets it on fire with his lighter, until there's smoke gently wafting around the room. Then he starts smudging, clearing away any possible bad energy. 

“So you know about the supernatural right?” Stiles continues, inspecting the walls quickly as the smoke curls through the room. “I mean, you’d have to know. Otherwise you wouldn’t be a good therapist for Derek, would you?”

“I’m aware,” Marjorie says, eyes flashing a different colour for a moment. 

Stiles takes a step towards her. “What are you?” He asks, curious.

“Not human,” she offers. “But I assure you I’m more than qualified to be Derek’s therapist.”

“We’ll see.” 

Derek coughs once at the overpowering smell of sage but Stiles doesn't stop until he's finished cleansing her office. Afterward, Marjorie helpfully cracks open a window while Stiles slumps into the chair next to Derek and stares at her suspiciously. 

“If you’re going to be rude to her," Derek mutters, annoyed. "Then you might as well leave.”

Stiles snorts and settles himself more firmly into the cushion. “I’ll be quiet.”

Derek actually laughs then and Stiles doesn’t dignify him with a response. He doesn’t like the way that Marjorie is watching them. She’s not taking notes or anything, thank God. But her eyes are very keen, and much too observant. She's unpeeling and analysing everything they do.

“Shall we get started?” Marjorie eventually suggests.

Stiles folds his arms and sits in to listen. 

He’s not ruling out the secret kraken theory yet.

  
  
  


“You liked her,” Derek says once the session is over and they’re leaving the office and strolling down the main street again. “I can tell.”

Please, this isn't about how charming she was. Which was actually a lot. Stiles even laughed a few times. “Not until after the background check,” he mutters. “But she wasn’t terrible.”

Derek doesn’t say anything but when Stiles glances over at his face he realises he's smiling to himself. Pleased. Derek really didn't use to smile much at all. That is some kind of rarity right there.

And Stiles likes that look on his face.

Maybe too much.

And then his phone rings just like that. He doesn’t need to check it to know it’s Lydia but her name swims accusingly across the screen. As if she's silently accusing him of staring at Derek for too long. Which he absolutely was.

Stiles stares at his phone, torn.

“Go ahead,” Derek says softly but he sounds more distant that he did before. “Answer it.”

“I’ll come over later,” he says quickly. “With the papers.”

But Derek just turns away from him. “Sure. Bye Stiles.”

Stiles watches Derek walk away for so long that he accidentally lets the call ring out. Unanswered. 

Lydia will understand. 

He’ll call her back once he’s got Derek’s signature once and for all.

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

  
  


Stiles texts Scott to ask to borrow his laptop once he's parked out on his couch and starts researching Marjorie Hunt as soon as he powers it up. Because that's the kind of wild Friday night that he lives for. 

It's easy to hack into the police database since he's been doing it since his teenage years, but it turns out Marjorie has no record. She's squeaky clean. 

So far. Then Stiles starts digging a little deeper. 

He's still going through her medical history when Scott finally gets home. 

"Hey man," he says, interrupting Stiles' focus. "I brought takeout. You hungry?" 

"Starving," Stiles agrees, not looking up from the screen. 

"What did you need my laptop for anyway?" Scott wonders as he fiddles about in the kitchen, getting forks and bowls to eat their dinner in. 

"Research," Stiles answers, not hearing when Scott moves closer and peers over his shoulder. 

"Dude, you're researching Derek's therapist?" he says, surprised. "Why?" 

That he would even ask that means he's completely forgotten about all of the women who have tried to kill Derek at some point in time. "Uh- in case she's _evil_ , Scotty." 

Scott jumps over the back of the couch and lands on the cushion next to Stiles, bowls, takeout and forks in hand. It's very impressive. "She's not evil," Scott promises. "Allison and Boyd checked her out when Derek first started his sessions." 

Allison might be a wonderful hunter but that doesn't mean she knows how to find the truth. She did trust her evil aunt Kate for an appalling length of time. Boyd might be clever and posses all the werewolf skills that come with that, but he can still miss things. And they don't have the kind of access that Stiles does. 

"Can't hurt to be sure," Stiles reasons. 

Scott seems more interested in the food than the conversation. Stiles decides to abandon his search for now. He needs fuel first. 

"You know you don't have to do this," Scott says eventually. "We all look out for each other." 

Stiles dishes himself some chow mein and tries not to get defensive. He's allowed to be concerned for Derek. "Yeah, I know buddy." 

Scott gets a surprising amount of food onto his fork and somehow fits it all into his mouth at once. Man, Stiles missed this guy. 

"Want to watch Zoolander?" 

Scott gives him a thumbs up.  
  
  
  


Stiles and Scott waste the entire Saturday on the couch watching movies and playing video games. 

It's the best day that Stiles has had in a long time. He doesn't get to just hang out like this with Brigid or Xander or Annora. They're a super active bunch of people. Their idea of fun is walking through the city, jogging through Central Park, bouncing from bars and clubs. 

They don't like to just sit around all day watching TV. But Stiles lives for that stuff. He's the ultimate couch potato. It's a good thing Lydia enjoys it too. 

When the sun goes down Scott gets up to shower and comes back looking like he's going out for a night on the town. "Do you want to come out with us?" Scott asks. "The whole pack will be there." 

Including Derek. And everyone else he hasn't talked to in four years. 

"I think I'll pass, buddy," he says. "I'm planning on calling Lydia in a little bit." 

Scott shrugs and takes the rejection with grace. "Alright. Have fun, man. I'll see you later." 

"Later," Stiles promises, curling up deeper on the couch. 

He does call Lydia. But when she answers she's upset because he didn't answer her call the other day. And then didn't call her back after. Stiles nearly smacks himself in the face. He completely forgot to call her back. 

Stiles apologises and explains with everything going on with his dad lately it completely slipped his mind. And that's partially true at least. He feels bad for lying, but he knows she'd only be more hurt finding out the truth now. 

And Stiles doesn't want to hurt her. 

They chat for another half an hour before Stiles' stomach gets the better of him and he gets up to make himself a toasted sandwich. Brigid is coming over to take Lydia out for dinner, so she needs to go eventually, after she's put Stiles on speaker and he's said hello. 

He's chewing on toast and melted cheese when he glances over at his bag and sees the divorce papers sticking out of them. 

And then he wonders why he's sitting here by himself when he could have Derek signing the papers right now and he could be heading home to Lydia tomorrow. Seized with newfound determination, Stiles finishes his toastie, disappears into Scott's bathroom to take a shower and decides to end this once and for all. 

Derek said he'd sign the papers when Stiles left his therapist office with him the other day. He'll do it, even if Stiles has to make him. This is happening. 

Stiles gets into his rental car and drives over to Derek's house. 

Of course when he ends up there Derek is long gone. They must have already headed out to the bar in town. They're all probably at that same bar they used to haunt with the rest of the pack.

The one the pack is now haunting without him.

Stiles drives over there, finds a parking spot outside and gets out. When he catches sight of Erica and Boyd making out against the wall of the building, he slams his door loud enough to interrupt them. 

“So Erica wasn’t imagining things,” Boyd says once he sees Stiles standing there. He's not smiling or frowning. Boyd has no reaction actually. “You really are here.”

Well with that kind of welcome- 

Cora comes stomping out of the bar a second later and he knows this isn't going to be good. “You’ve got some nerve, Stiles,” she says, and Stiles might be worried she's going to kick his ass if she didn't seem so upset.

He's not doing this right now. He didn't come here for a fight. “I’m just here for my divorce,” he says. “That’s it.”

“Yeah, we all know about what you’re here for,” she mutters, folding her arms. “Funny you didn’t think of us until you needed something.”

He knows she's hurt but she's also not being very fair right now. “Like you guys really made the effort to see me too? C’mon Cora.” 

“We were still your friends,” she says. “You abandoned us.”

Stiles’ temper flares. “Where were you guys when Derek kicked me to the curb and trashed our place?”

They’re all staring at him now. And there’s something collective about their expressions like they share a secret he doesn’t.

Stiles doesn’t have time for this. He goes to walk past them, inside the bar where Derek is probably sitting with Scott and Isaac and pretty much everyone in this town who hates him.

“You fought. He wanted time to cool off,” Cora snaps. “And then he-" 

"Cora," Boyd warns, like he's trying stop her. "Derek asked us not to." 

But Cora's too riled up to listen to him. What the hell did Derek ask them not to do? "I don't care," she says. "This has gone on long enough." 

"What has?" Stiles demands, getting fed up with all this sudden secrecy. "What the hell are you talking about?" 

Cora pushes off Erica's hand when she tries to grab her. "You guys had a bad fight. Derek wanted space and you left. And then that's when he got kidnapped by a vampire clan.”

Stiles goes completely still.

“What?”

“I told you,“ Erica insists, gripping Boyd's arm tight. “I told you he didn't know. Stiles would have never left otherwise.”

She's serious. They're all serious about this, like it isn't some story Derek concocted to explain the temper tantrum he had that forced Stiles out of town. As if it's the actual truth. Stiles jerks back towards Cora, takes her arm to hold her there. “What happened?”

“It took us a while to figure out he’d been kidnapped,” she admits. “Because you were gone and we didn’t hear from you for a few days. At first we thought they’d taken the both of you. Because they’d trashed the place. By the time we’d figured it out and tracked him down they’d nearly drained him.”

Stiles flinches. Oh God. Oh God. How did he not know this happened?

“It’s not like what everyone thinks,” Boyd continues. “Vampires actually love werewolf blood. We heal faster than humans, our blood replenishes itself quicker. If they’re careful they can keep a werewolf blood bag for months before they finally kill them.”

Stiles is panting shallowly now, on the verge of panic, heart pounding at the realisation that Derek hadn’t actually wanted him gone. He’d been taken. He could have died and he would have died with Stiles hating him.

“We got to him just in time,” Cora says. “He was in and out of consciousness for a full week before he was able to tell us you never came back. You weren’t at the apartment when they came for you. We thought they might have killed you first.”

Stiles stares at them open-mouthed and speechless.

“Do you know why Derek doesn’t live where you used to?” Cora asks him. “Because by the time we’d rescued Derek and brought him back they’d burnt the place down. When Derek woke up he thought you’d burned with it.”

He reels away from her, feeling like he’s going to throw up. Derek thought he was dead. Derek thought he’d been _burned alive_ in their apartment. How did he get this so wrong?

“When you finally started answering Scott’s texts a week later and told him where you were, Derek flew out to New York to find you.”

Stiles needs to sit down. This is too much. “He didn’t- I never saw him. He never spoke to me. Why didn’t any of you _tell_ me?”

“Scott was going to,” Boyd says. “When Derek came back he stopped him. He stopped all of us.”

Stiles’ eyes feel hot and scratchy and his throat is dry. “Why didn’t he-?“

“He thought you _burned to death_ , Stiles,” Cora says. “And it was his fault. But you were safe in New York.”

He can’t hear this anymore. Stiles shoves past her and storms into the bar in search of the fool who let Stiles believe the worst of him for four years. Derek’s right where he thought he would be, playing pool with Scott and Isaac. Stiles has never wanted to hit him so badly. Knock some sense into him.

Derek barely has the chance to see him coming before Stiles is pushing him in the chest. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he snaps. “Why didn’t you tell me you were _kidnapped_?”

Derek goes stiff all over.

“Whoa, Stiles,” Isaac mutters. “Hello to you too.”

“You were kidnapped,” he hisses, ignoring everyone else and pushing harder at his chest. Derek doesn’t even budge. “You were fucking kidnapped. And you didn’t even-”

“You left first,” Derek says and Stiles recoils like he’s been slapped.

“I thought you _tossed me out_. I thought you were done with us.”

Derek stares at him, not even comprehending the magnitude of his fuck up. Why the hell didn't he bother to explain what really happened? Stiles is so mad the lights about them are flickering. 

Derek glances up at them and then back at Stiles. “What does it matter now?”

What does it matter now? Stiles has nothing to say to that. It shouldn’t. That's the point Derek is trying to make. Because Stiles is going to get married to Lydia. He’s moved on. This is over.

And it still matters so _fucking much_.

“Screw you, Derek,” he says, hating the brittle emotion in his voice. “That destroyed me.”

His words must hurt too because Derek's expression twists and he takes a step back. Stiles has officially reached his capacity for discoveries today so he stomps over to the bar without another word. 

He’s going to drink it dry. Or die trying.

“Shots,” he says to the bartender, before realising it’s Greenberg, from high school. Because everyone knows everyone here, dammit. “So many shots, my dude.”

Greenberg gives him the side eye but sets it up.

  
  
  


Stiles is beyond drunk. He’s on a new level of drunk. He’s discovered a new tier of drunkness and plans to name it after himself. This is the new drunk.

He’ll hold a Viking funeral for his liver tomorrow. Or maybe just Derek’s funeral if he decides murdering him is the best course of action in light of all this new information. All the lies that everyone covered up.

It should be called Deception Hills. Or Beacon Lies. Or fucking Iago or something. Machiavelli. Whatever.

He can feel Derek’s eyes on his back.

Scott comes over and tries to talk to him.

“Goodbye, Scott,” he says before Scott can even open his mouth.

“Stiles,” he tries, sounding all apologetic and everything. Little late for sorry after four years of withholding things from him.

He can't believe he ever thought he could still trust Scott. “You knew how much it killed me. I fled the fucking state to get away from it all and all those times you were comforting me on the phone you were lying to my fucking face.”

Scott lets out a soft sound. “Please-”

“Goodbye, Scott,” he repeats. “Don’t forget to pull the knife out of my back as you go.”

Somebody puts a drink in front of him and Stiles slurps it down gratefully before he realises it’s water. Not vodka. And Derek is the one standing beside him.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

Like he's got the fucking gall to police Stiles' drinking now when he's the one who let Stiles leave and never come back. When he had the power to fix everything between them and he just sat around and did nothing. Stiles could kill him. 

“Sign the papers,” he snaps. “I’ve got nothing else to say to you.”

Derek doesn't try to touch him which is good because Stiles would probably take a swing at him right now if he did. "I was always going to sign them. You didn't have to go digging around for the truth." 

Stiles knocks the glass over when he turns to glare at Derek and it smashes on the floor. "Like you didn't have to lie to me? Fuck off, Derek. You're the worst guy I've ever met." 

Derek doesn't respond to that or even try to defend his actions which is somehow worse. He grabs Greenberg’s attention instead. “Don’t serve him anything else,” he says before heading back over to the pack.

Stiles angry squawks of protest are ignored in light of Greenberg’s drunk limit scan. Which apparently he fails. “Oh man, yeah he’s cut off.”

“Oh fuck you Greenberg,” Stiles snaps, twisting off the stool and staggering into the edge of the bar with a laugh.

He stomps over towards the traitorous group the pack makes.

“Jesus, Stiles,” Cora says, nose wrinkling from the smell of alcohol on him.

“What? Got anymore bombshells to drop? Or is one enough?”

She goes to reply but Derek shakes his head at her.

“Oh no,” Stiles says, fury rising. “No more secrets. What else don't I know? Did he cheat on me too?”

Isaac and Scott exchange uneasy glances. Jackson gives him an unimpressed look.

“You're a mess, Stilinski," he says. "And you’re the one cheating.” 

When Stiles glares at Jackson, Isaac unhelpfully puts in, “Well you are still married.”

Because of fucking course they're happy to go along with Derek's lies but as soon as Stiles shows his disapproval he's the one with the problem. Stiles lurches towards Isaac angrily. 

“Oh so you’re on a high horse now? Who made sure that rogue werewolf found the only man in town using his fists on you? Pretty convenient way to die, huh? Go lock yourself in a fridge.”

Isaac visibly pales and the pack is crowding around him all of a sudden, pushing Stiles out onto the fringes again. Always pushing Stiles out.

He’s cursing them all when Derek takes his arm and drags him out of the bar.

“Give me my divorce,” he demands once they’re outside in the brisk air.

Derek’s face is a blur but he seems like he’s frowning. “You know, I always knew you were capable of some questionable shit Stiles, but I never thought you’d stoop to this. I know you hate me but taking it out on everyone else won't fix things. A few years ago hurting your pack would have been unimaginable to you.”

Stiles is swaying on his feet, stomach churning but he can still get hurtful words out. “You’re not my pack. You’re not my anything.”

Derek’s face doesn’t shut down but it looks a lot like it crumbles. 

"I'm outta here," he slurs, fumbling for his keys before Derek’s warm hand is closing over his. 

“You’re not driving.”

“Like hell I’m not-“ he snaps. 

But then Derek lifts him up and carries him over towards his truck and Stiles thinks he’s going to throw up sooner than later. Scott is standing outside the bar, watching him with a conflicted kind of concern. Cora's there too but she's glaring at Derek, not Stiles. For once.

“I’m taking you home,” Derek says, strangely detached as he buckles Stiles into the passenger seat.

“No,” he moans. “Take me to Scott’s.”

Derek glances at Scott but he nods his agreement. Stiles lets his eyes fall shut after that but he still hears the thrum of Derek’s voice.

“Could you follow us?”

Scott must agree to that too because Derek starts the truck and they’re finally leaving the shitty pub with all its shitty people behind.

 

  
  
  


Stiles throws up in Scott’s garden and all over his pants. Which he doesn't even say sorry for cause Scott totally deserves it. Derek rubs his spine comfortingly as he empties his stomach and helps push Stiles' hair off of his face. 

He makes no comments either. Which is a good thing because Stiles doesn’t need them right now.

Scott unlocks the door and Derek lifts him over the threshold, taking him straight to the bathroom.

“Shouldn’t we wash him off?” Derek wonders, gesturing at the shower.

“I think he just got it on his jeans,” Scott replies quietly.

Stiles moans at all the noise they’re making. “Shhhh, sleep.”

Someone’s unbuckling his jeans and there are hands on his feet, removing his shoes and socks. Stiles starts trying to assist, pushing his feet back hard to wriggle out of his pants.

“Careful,” Derek starts just as Stiles makes contact with something warm and hard.

“Ouch, Stiles,” Scott cries.

“He gets like this when he’s drunk,” Derek whispers. “He thinks he’s helping but he’s just kicking you more than anything.”

God, are they always this loud? Why won't they just let Stiles sleep? He's so tired. 

“Jesus, did you have to hit so hard?” Scott grumbles. “I think you bruised my lung.”

“Shhh, Scotty,” Stiles sighs, making a pleased sound once he’s free of his pants.

Then he’s being lifted into the air again and moved about until he’s deposited on a soft bed.

“Should I get a bucket?” Scott asks.

“It’ll be alright,” Derek says. “He usually only throws up once.”

Stiles lets out a long groan. “Maybe just in case.”

He can hear Scott’s soft footsteps padding out of the room, and opens his eyes blearily, finding Derek’s shape in the dark.

“Hey,” he says softly, catching hold of his arm. “I still dream about you sometimes. Even when I don’t want to.”

The Derek shape goes still. “Stiles-“

“I missed you,” he sighs. “I missed you so much. And you just let me go.”

Derek slowly pulls his arm free. “That’s not fair, Stiles. You're with someone else.”

“Jus’ being honest,” he sighs, settling into the pillow and closing his eyes.

He falls asleep quickly, safe and sensing Derek’s steadfast presence in the room.

  
  
  


When he cracks his eyes open the world is upside down and the sun is shooting a laser beam of heat directly onto his face.

“Ugh,” he says, mouth tasting like ass, before he realises his head is half dangling off the edge of the bed and he’s splayed out sideways across the mattress instead of straight down like a normal person.

Scott is standing cautiously in the doorway. As if he doesn’t know how he’s going to be received. 

“Oh God,” he says, remembering. “What did I do?”

"I'm sorry I never told you," Scott says straight away. "You didn't see what he was like when he thought you were dead. He just- fell apart, Stiles. I know this means nothing to you hearing it now, but he wanted to keep you as far away from here as possible." 

Stiles rolls over and buries his face into the mattress. "You could have told me. I deserved to know." 

"I know that. I swear Stiles if I could have done it I would have. Like straight away." 

If Scott was closer Stiles would punch him. "Nothing was stopping you!" 

Scott comes in and sits down on the edge of the mattress. "After your house burned down, Derek lived in his car. For a whole month. He could have afforded a hotel. We all offered to let him stay with us. But he slept in a car, Stiles. The only way I could convince him to visit a therapist was if I didn't tell you what really happened to him. He didn't want you to know yet." 

Stiles sits up, squinting at Scott carefully. "Yet? As in he wanted me to know eventually?" 

But Scott just shrugs. "I don't know, Stiles. None of us knew what was going on inside his head. I know what we did to you was awful, but we were just so desperate to get him help. We would have agreed to anything." 

Stiles hates this so much. "What happened to him?" 

"Marjorie somehow managed to convince Derek to move in with Cora. He refused to talk about you at all. It took two years for him to finally admit not bringing you back had been a mistake. And during that time he'd torn down the Hale house and rebuilt on the property. After that he started a job, began hanging around the pack more. And Beacon Hills started to settle down." 

Stiles knows he's crying. He just doesn't care. "But _I_ was your best friend." 

Scott's eyes are wet too. "I know, I know, Stiles. I hated all of it so much. And I know you can never forgive me for that. I guess we just prioritised Derek over you because we knew you could handle yourself and Derek- couldn't." 

Stiles snorts. That's funny. He can barely handle sorting out a divorce. 

"You picked yourself up and moved to a better place didn't you?" Scott says, guessing what he's thinking. "You made a better life for yourself. You've always been strong, but we should never have abandoned you like we did." 

He wipes at his face. "Is that why you stopped talking to me so much? Because you thought I could handle it?" 

Scott sniffles and rubs at his eyes. "Nah, man. I was being a coward. I couldn't hang around you knowing I was keeping that huge secret. Or that I'd kept it for so long." 

Stiles can relate to that at least. It's how he's been feeling every time he talks to Lydia lately. Maybe he should just come clean and tell her, deal with the consequences like his pack should have done ages ago. Like Derek should have done. 

"Look," he says. "I understand why you did it. But I don't forgive you. Not yet. I need time." 

Scott just nods eagerly and he's so sincere that Stiles almost wishes he never discovered the truth in the first place. "Sure. Take all the time you need. If you can't ever forgive me, I get it. I wasn't a good friend." 

And isn't that an understatement. 

"You know," Scott starts, hesitantly. "The pack didn't just agree to it with no problems, Stiles. We've been having this fight with Derek for years now. Erica actually punched him over it once. Cora's been riding him about finally coming clean. Even Jackson called him out for it. Boyd and Isaac could barely talk to him." 

Stiles' stomach drops, remembering last night. And the things he said. "Shit, _Isaac_." 

Scott's still got some tears rolling, but his expression turns grim. "Yeah. I know you'd only just found out everything, but maybe bringing up his abusive father wasn't the best call." 

Oh God, right, he said that. Stiles distinctly remembers making a comment about refrigerators. Which is beyond harsh, knowing that's where his father used to trap Isaac for hours on end. Oh Jesus. 

"Fuck," he mutters. “I crossed a line.”

Shit. Scott doesn't really say anything but his expression basically confirms it. And Stiles brought all that horrible shit back to the surface last night. What the fuck is wrong with him? He would never have said that to Isaac before, even if they never liked each other that much. 

And Jesus, Derek lectured him on it after, really put him in his place. And Stiles-

Fuck, Stiles told Derek he _dreams_ about him. He told Derek he missed him. When Derek is the one who lied to him, who let him go on believing that he wanted Stiles out of his life when he really just gave up on fighting for them.

What a disaster.

“Oh man, I really fucked up.”

Scott doesn’t disagree. “Maybe a little. But congratulations anyhow.”

When Stiles shows his confusion, Scott gestures at the pillow up at the other end of the bed, where the divorce papers are sitting. Signed.

Derek signed the papers.

Stiles scrambles up to look at them but Derek’s elegant script is unmistakeable. He's not imagining things. Derek signed. This is over. Only instead the thought just makes him really angry.

“What’s this?” he demands, furiously. “Misplaced guilt for lying to me for so long?”

Scott shrugs and Stiles stands up on shaky legs and barely makes it into the bathroom before he throws up.

 

  
  
  


He sends the copy to Kira Yukimura in New York, bleary eyed and painfully hungover.

It’s done. That’s one chapter that’s finally closed.

 

  
  
  


Stiles gets Scott to drop him off at the bar where the rental car is still waiting for him. Stiles keeps abandoning that damn thing all over town.

He waves Scotty away as he returns to the main road again and climbs into the driver’s seat. Scott told him that Isaac shares a house with Jackson, Erica, Boyd and Cora now and Stiles doesn’t relish facing any of their accusations or unrelenting disapproval. But he needs to make this right.

Scott texted him the address so Stiles maps it out on his phone before driving over. He considers whether he should send Derek a text as well, to talk about last night, about why Derek took care of him when he was a right mess. Or to maybe thank him for finally putting that pen to paper, but he decides against it.

He doesn't need to thank Derek for finally doing what he should have years ago. And he can’t bear Derek’s reply right now anyway. So he drives on over to the unofficial pack house and hopes for the best. Maybe he’ll get lucky and no one else but Isaac will be there.

When he pulls into the drive, the werewolves come out to greet him and it seems just like his luck that Isaac is the only one not among them.

“Here to ruin more people’s day, Stiles?” Jackson wonders sweetly as soon as he gets out of the car.

“Look, I’m willing to admit that I’m an asshole.”

“As long as you’re wiling,” Boyd says.

Stiles takes that in his stride. “Where is he? I owe a monumental apology and some major grovelling.”

"We owe an apology too," Erica starts. "We should have told you." 

He's not even sure if he has it in him to be angry anymore. God, Stiles is tired. "I get why you didn't. But yeah, you should have told me." 

The pack is staring at him now, and at least they seem contrite about it. 

"Derek's a fucking moron," Jackson says eventually. "We shouldn't have listened to him." 

Trust Jackson to be bluntly practical about it. But the rest of the pack doesn't try to disagree with him. Maybe Scott was right. Maybe they were against this from the start. 

“Isaac’s at your dad’s house,” Cora says. “He’s helping him with something.”

“With what?” Stiles demands, immediately suspicious.

Erica smirks a little “Head on over and find out.”

"What-?" 

"He's helping clean out the garage," Boyd explains. "He likes to hang out with your dad sometimes." 

Stiles tries not to pull a face as he walks back to the car. "Apparently everyone does."  
  
  
  
  


“Isaac,” Stiles calls, once he’s parked in his father’s driveway and spotted him bending over in the doorway of the open garage.

Isaac must be helping his father clear it all out like Stiles has been promising he would do for years. He pauses to turn around and watch Stiles approach before resuming his work.

“Your dad’s gone inside to get us drinks,” Isaac says, lifting what looks like a heavy box filled with garden gnomes.

Stiles went through a bit of a phase as a kid. A few of them in there aren’t even stolen, though most of them probably belong to their neighbours.

“C’mon,” Stiles says nearly tripping over a box full of family albums. His dad put them away after his Mom died because he couldn’t handle sifting through them like Stiles used to. “You know I’m here to apologise.”

Isaac shrugs. “Do I know that? You’re a bit more of an unpredictable asshole than I thought you were.”

Okay, Stiles deserves that. Definitely. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “What I did went beyond white girl wasted levels of shitty. I should never have said what I did. I was upset and pissed off and you just ended up in my line of fire.”

“You’re a real dick, Stilinski,” he says. “Did you know that? But I guess we've all been dicks around here.”

Stiles is starting to smile a little as he follows Isaac down their driveway to the pile of other unnecessary boxes full of miscellaneous useless junk that his father is getting rid of. Stiles glances back at the garage and they barely even look halfway done.

"I am sorry," he says. "I was out of line." 

“We’re cool, Stiles," Isaac mutters. "Just- cut Derek some slack, okay?”

That's definitely not happening but it’s nice that Isaac is look out for Derek. He's angry about it, probably won't ever not be angry about it, but Stiles has no beef with Derek anymore. 

Not now the papers have been sent off, signed and dated. He doesn’t care that Derek thinks he burned to death in their home, went off to New York to find him and mysteriously returned without ever contacting him.

Stiles doesn’t care about that at all.

“He signed the papers last night,” he admits. “That’s the only reason I was here.”

Isaac sets the box down with the others and turns to study Stiles’ face. “Was it?”

What’s with all the rhetorical questions lately? 

“Mr Stilinski,” An unfamiliar voice calls and Stiles and Isaac turn at the exact moment the professional camera the man is holding clicks. “New York Post. I have a few-“

Isaac’s eyes flash and the man lets out a yell, dropping the camera so it’s hanging around his neck, and stepping back once he realises he’s a werewolf.

Stiles certainly isn’t expecting him to draw the gun, but fanatics come in all unfortunate shapes and sizes. And apparently one works at the New York Post.

He moves in front of Isaac almost immediately, hands raised. “Whoa! What the fuck are you doing?” he shouts.

The man’s hands are shaking and he’s pointing the gun, no doubt laced with wolfsbane bullets directly at Stiles’ chest. “He flashed his eyes at me,” he cries, eyes bulging. “It’s within my rights to-“

“Defend yourself yeah,” Stiles finishes. “But _only_ if a werewolf is advancing on you with the intent to harm, asshole. You surprised him, he didn’t make a move towards you. Put that fucking thing away before I call the cops.”

The photographer glances hatefully at Isaac. “Werewolves-“

“Is that gun registered?” Stiles continues, talking over him. “Because I’d be more than happy to call my father, the sheriff, out here and he can take you to the station to find out. Lots of werewolf deputies in Beacon Hills Police Department, you know, and I’m sure they’d love to meet you.”

The photographer glares at Isaac and Stiles glares at the gun, thinking of all the werewolves he might have threatened with this before or will threaten with it in the future. Werewolves never asked to be exposed to the world. They were perfectly happy flying under the radar as the star creatures of trashy romantic movies.

He feels rather than sees the heat from his anger melt the bullets inside the chamber. It helps to cool the rage in his chest. The photographer couldn’t fire that gun now even if he wanted to. Good.

“Fine. I got my photo anyway,” the photographer snaps, stowing the gun, unaware of what Stiles has just done to it. 

He's probably here for a snapshot of Stiles standing in front of his house following his and Lydia's recent engagement. The picture might have made the front page. If Isaac hadn't been standing here next to him.

“Actually you probably didn’t,” Isaac puts in carefully. “The natural flare from werewolf eyes ruins the development process.”

The photographer stares angrily at them both.

“Get the fuck off my property,” Stiles says pleasantly.

He waits until the photographer spins on his heel and stalks back to his car before looking away.

Stiles’ dad finally comes out through the front door carrying two cans of soda. He seems surprised at Stiles’ presence then confused when the photographer pulls away from the curb so quickly that he burns rubber.

“Stiles? Who was that?”

“A fucking prick,” he replies, throwing an arm around Isaac’s neck and dragging him back towards the garage.

“Want a hand with those boxes?”

  
  
  


Isaac heads home after they manage to clean out the whole garage. Stiles is a little bit sweaty and tired from helping out, but he figures it’s probably some kind of penance for his shitty words last night.

Even if he was allowed to be angry. At Derek. And the rest of the pack for keeping what really happened from him. Stiles waits until they’re alone to bring it up with his father.

“You knew too,” he guesses. “That Derek hadn’t really kicked me out. That he’d been kidnapped.”

He doesn’t answer straight away. “You know at first I thought you were dead like everyone else did. I was the one called over to the house after it burned down. When the rest of the pack found Derek in that vampire den and discovered you weren’t there I was at your house. I was meant to go in searching for remains.”

Stiles throat feels too tight. “Dad-“

“I couldn’t do it. Losing your child- I couldn’t even begin to face something like that alone. When Derek was finally conscious I had to be the one to tell him. I took him to the burnt out shell of your home and had to explain why it wasn’t likely you would have survived a blaze like that while we searched for you.” 

Searched for his remains more like. Fuck, Stiles had no idea how awful it would have been.

“Once we realised you weren’t kidnapped too, that you were just gone,” he says. “I called you, Stiles. Over a hundred times.”

“But when I spoke to Scott,” Stiles says, a little desperately. “You must have known I was okay. I didn’t even know there had been a fire. I didn’t know any of this.”

“You still ignored my calls.”

“You _know_ why I did that. I would only have blamed you for what happened with Derek even more. Why didn’t he tell me?”

His dad softens a little. “He broke down, kid. He reached rock bottom.”

Stiles has heard this from Scott too, but it sounds different coming from his father.

“You were the breaking point. He lost almost his entire family to a fire. The thought that if you’d stuck around you might have gone the same way as them was too much for him. Whatever kind of functioning emotional state he’d built over the years fell apart. That’s how Scott finally convinced him to go to therapy.”

God, everything is just so backwards. 

“You know I never hated him, kid,” his father says. “I just wanted him to help himself.”

“I’ve gotta go,” Stiles says, unable to take anymore of this. “I need to talk to Derek.”

How did it get so complicated?

  
  
  


Stiles goes around to Derek’s house and finds the whole pack there. Or at least their parked cars.

He can smell meat cooking so he walks around the side and finds them all sitting in the back courtyard, relaxing and laughing and generally having a good time without him. Figures. That witch girl is there too and she stares at him for much too long to be considered comfortable.

Stiles gives them a nod before heading into the house through the back door, assuming Derek must be in the kitchen.

He is. Though he seems surprised to be seeing Stiles at all.

“I thought you’d be long gone by now,” Derek mutters slicing up tomato and feta for the salad he’s obviously making.

“You owe me an explanation.”

Derek hesitates briefly before resuming chopping again. If Stiles had something to throw he’d be throwing it right now.

“Isaac told me what happened earlier,” is all he says. “You didn’t have to get involved like that but I appreciate it.”

“You appreciate it,” he repeats, startled to hear that coming from Derek after last night. “I want the truth, Derek. I deserve that much.”

He turns his head and Stiles can see his agreement. “When I was finally healed enough to stay conscious for more than a few hours I went back to our place and helped your father search for your body.”

The expression on Derek’s face is awful. Stiles hates this.

“When they were drinking my blood, they kept taunting me about going back to get you. So they could drain you in front of me- that’s how I knew you hadn’t been captured. And since they burnt the house down after they discovered you weren't there, I couldn’t check to see if you’d left any clues behind.”

Stiles feels ashamed all of sudden. “There wasn’t a letter,” he admits. “I left a post-it-note on the fridge.”

Derek pauses like he’s thinking about whether or not he wants to know. “What did it-?”

“Derek,” he says, aching all over with this new awareness of all the mistakes he’s made. All the mistakes they've both made.

He stares at Stiles, thinks it over for a second longer. “Please,” he says, soft and sure. “I need to know.”

Stiles can’t look at him. So he takes the knife out of Derek’s hand and resumes chopping for him. “I wrote: ‘Guess you got what you wanted’ and signed it with an S so you’d know it was me.”

Derek’s mouth lifts a little. “I would have known it was you from the smell. Or the handwriting.”

“Yeah, well I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly,” he mutters. “I thought my husband had thrown me out in some passive aggressive attempt of asking for a divorce without actually having to say the words.”

“Like you asked me?”

Whatever relaxed atmosphere between them falls away. When Derek tries to turn away from him, Stiles sets the knife down and squeezes between him and the counter, forcing him to maintain eye contact.

“If it was such a mistake,” he starts, mouth dry and his heart filled with emotion. “Why didn’t you talk to me in New York? Why did you just leave?”

Derek meets his gaze and Stiles can see the misery in his eyes. It’s probably reflected in his own.

“You’d only been gone a week and a half and you’d already gotten yourself a job. At that dingy little bookstore on the corner of eleventh avenue and west forty forth street.”

Stiles remembers. He still works at that damn bookstore on weekends.

“How did you find me?” he wonders, shocked. “I only told Scott I’d transferred to Columbia and found an apartment in New York.”

Derek falters as if he’s not sure he should admit to something.

“Tell me,” Stiles demands, needing to put his hands behind his back because he knows he’s about to reach out and touch Derek’s chest.

“I caught your scent,” he confesses. “I tracked you down- and I saw you working at that bookstore.”

Stiles knows exactly what kind of feat that is. But he’s not sure how Derek could have possibly done it. “How did you-?

“You were my husband. We lived together. I could have found you anywhere.”

Stiles hates the flush of heat in his gut that brings out. “But why didn’t you come in?” he asks. “Why didn’t you try and talk to me?”

“I- couldn’t do it,” he says. “Each time I saw you, heard your steady heartbeat and how relaxed you smelt, I couldn’t. I waited the rest of the day until you’d finished your shift and I still couldn’t do it. And when you left and went to a bar after I followed you.”

Stiles thinks he knows the day Derek’s talking about. “Oh God.”

“You met up with the beautiful woman you’d sold a book to earlier that day and the rest of her friends and you had drinks together. I heard you laugh.”

There could not have been worse timing for Derek's final attempt to talk to him. “So what you didn’t try and fix things between us because I went to dinner with a woman and her friends and I enjoyed myself?”

Derek finally steps away from him. “You don’t understand what it was like. I went from thinking you died the same way my family had and it was all my fault to seeing you safe and out having a good time. Living a normal life.”

Stiles thinks he might know what he’s getting at here. “This is some noble breaking my heart to protect me bullshit, isn’t it?”

Derek scowls at him. “No, Stiles. It’s thinking you’d burnt to death and it was all my fault before finding you alive and well in New York kind of a mental breakdown.”

“Oh. What?”

“I couldn’t handle thinking you were dead for a few minutes let alone a few days and after what happened I realised you'd never be safe with me. Not in Beacon Hills. You know what it was like a few years ago. There were new monsters in town almost every month. How long was it going to take until you were caught in the crossfire?”

“I was always in danger,” Stiles mutters. “But that never stopped us before.”

Derek sighs. “Before I hadn’t actually thought you'd died.”

“And what, letting me think you’d kicked me out somehow saved my life?”

“I think I was punishing myself,” Derek explains. “For making you leave after we had that fight. But then I still didn’t know what would have happened to you if you were there when the vampires came so I was also glad I did it. I guess I was also punishing myself for not ending things sooner.”

“Huh?”

“It’s something I’ve talked about in therapy,” Derek says slowly. “Marjorie showed me I have a tendency to self-sabotage and after what happened with Kate I was always trying to punish myself because I didn’t think I deserved to be happy.”

Stiles stares at him open mouthed. “So then whenever I was happy I tried to ruin it somehow. And I was so happy with you.”

God, he didn’t expect to hear that. And Stiles didn’t know it would hurt so much. When they were together, Stiles had known they were happy, but Derek back then would never have said it. Even when they gave their vows, Derek kept it short and simple.

Stiles wrote ten pages waxing poetic about Derek’s butt until Scott read over it and forced him to remove it.

He doesn’t make the conscious choice to do it but somehow his arms end up wrapped around Derek and he’s hugging him. 

“I’m glad you didn’t die,” he whispers. “I’m glad you’re getting therapy.”

The palms of Derek’s hands press against his back and Stiles doesn’t mean to relax completely under the touch. It just happens. Derek somehow smells exactly like Stiles remembers. 

Though he’s not using the same body wash anymore. The detergent he uses is still the same. Stiles tries to inhale a little more of it.

And then Derek pulls away. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says. “It’s good that we finally got around to talking about this. I’m sorry for making this so hard for you. I'm sure you wanted closure too.”

Stiles isn’t used to this earnest kind of emotional honesty coming from Derek. “Yeah, closure. That’s definitely what I wanted.”

Derek tilts his head to the side, confused and Stiles realises that his heart betrayed him. At least when it comes to a lie.

“I’ve got to go. I’ll see you around.”

“You’re leaving,” Derek guesses with the kind of acceptance that makes Stiles squirm. “Have you talked things out with your dad?”

“We talked,” he admits cagily. “And I’m not leaving Beacon Hills just yet.”

This seems to be news to Derek. “Oh. You’re staying?”

“Just for a few more days,” he says quickly. “You know, see as many people as I can.”

“I don’t blame him, you know,” Derek says. “For how he acted. He was right about me at least.”

Stiles feels a flare of anger so hot it burns him up inside. “No, he wasn’t,” he snaps, surprised by the sudden vehemence in his voice.

Derek looks staggered too. Stiles steps back and manages an awkward wave as he darts back out through the back door again. The rest of the pack are all staring at him.

“You heard all that right?”

“We weren’t listening,” Scott promises. 

“I was,” Erica says.

Cora slings and arm around her neck. “So was I. You know Stiles, I could have sworn I was smelling-”

“BYE,” he says loudly, drowning her words out as he makes his escape.

At least Derek’s happy. At least he’s doing better.

  
  
  


It's strange being home now. Knowing he's going to be returning back to New York soon, leaving everybody behind again. 

The idea isn't as appealing as it used to be. 

With his dad at work, and pretty much everyone else busy, Stiles lazes about all day before deciding he wants to go for a walk. Do a final victory lap of Beacon Hills before he's leaving it for good. 

Even if he's sorted through some things, Stiles isn't too sure he's ever going to come back. It's better for everyone if he stays away. He doesn't want to keep being reminded of what his life used to be like before Derek stomped all over it. 

Lydia calls him while he's walking in the woods and he must be feeling too nostalgic because he can't even find the enthusiasm to talk about coming back to New York, or resuming his studies. 

"Are you sure you're okay?" Lydia asks, not for the first time. "You're acting kind of strange." 

"I don't know," he admits, running his fingers across a well trimmed hedge as he walks past it. "I just feel kind of meh. Is that a thing?" 

Lydia sounds a little worried so he probably shouldn't have said anything. "I mean, I guess? That's definitely some kind of emotional state. Is it because of things with your father?" 

Oh great more lies. "Not exactly," he admits. "There's just a lot of things that have come to light recently. Things I never even knew and maybe that's messed with my perspective on things a little? I don't know what I'm saying." 

"No," she insists. "I think I understand what you mean. Is there anything I can do to help?" 

God, the fact that she's being so nice to him when he's been lying to her since they started dating makes him feel impossibly worse. Why can't he just tell her? They're on the phone right now. He could come clean. 

"Listen," he starts, hesitantly. "There's some things I have to-" 

"Sorry, babe I have to cut you off," Lydia mutters quickly. "Higgins is calling me over again." 

"Okay," he says, trying not to seem disappointed. "Talk to you later." 

""Love you." 

"Yeah," he pauses, regretting everything he didn't say. "Love you too." 

Lydia hangs up. And Stiles is alone again.  


"Hey sparky!" a familiar voice calls and suddenly Stiles is staring at that damn witch again. Sayena. 

"Oh," he says, without much enthusiasm. "Hey." 

She's wearing construction gear and a hard hat, standing out the front of a house that looks like it's being knocked down. From the sandwich she's eating she must be having her lunch and decided to stand out in the sun for a little while. 

Somehow it is not at all the profession he would have expected from a witch. Even if her arms are impressively muscular. 

"You work construction?" he asks, realising suddenly that she might work with Derek and he could be running into him at any second. He glances around quickly. "Uh- does that mean-?" 

"Stiles?" Derek says, surprised as he reaches Sayena's shoulder. "Is everything alright?" 

He's kind of the last person Stiles wanted to see right now, but trust the universe to make this happen. "Yeah, uh just walking, you know. Chatting with this witchy lady." 

Derek's attention shifts between them. "Right," he says, and was it always this awkward between them? "I'll just-" 

"Derek!" a man shouts from inside the house where he's tearing down the east wall. "Need a hand here, man." 

"Sure," he shouts back and he's giving Stiles a quick nod before disappearing again. 

The witch is watching Stiles and he has no idea what he's meant to say to her. "Well anyway. It's been fun. I'm just gonna-" 

"So you're divorced now?" she demands. "Derek's finally on the market?" 

Heat pulses in Stiles' skull and the sensor light hanging over the front landing of the house shatters. Sayena doesn't even blink as the glass rains down behind her, even as a few exclamations of surprise come from inside the house. But she's smirking when Stiles hastily steps back, realising that was his fault. 

"Guess that answers my question." 

The witch is entirely too smug about that so Stiles gets the hell out of there before he destroys _more_ stuff.  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

  


His dad is cooking some kind of intense soup that needs to boil for more than an hour so Stiles is just hanging about in the kitchen, inhaling the hint of food he's not allowed to eat yet. 

God, he's hungry. Scott's got a hot date tonight so Stiles thought he'd do him a solid and actually leave the apartment empty. If his dad ever gets around to actually serving the soup. He smacks Stiles' hand away when he tries to stick a spoon into it to taste. 

"Spoilsport," he mutters. 

"How was your day?" his father asks, slowly stirring the concoction that Stiles is not allowed to eat yet. 

Stiles shrugs and hops up onto the counter to sit. Might as well get comfortable if they're going to be waiting this long. "Not bad. I went for a walk. How about you?" 

He doesn't mention the run in with Derek. Or the witch. Or how awkward the whole thing had been. Stiles is very carefully avoiding the fact that Sayena's interest in Derek's unattached status had him destroying private property with his mind. Or magic to be more technical. Magic Stiles does not exactly have the hang of yet. 

The sheriff only sighs. "Busy." 

In a police precinct? That sounds about right. Stiles is about to ask him what he thinks about maybe visiting him in New York sometime when there's a knock at the door. 

"Oh, that'll be Derek," he says and Stiles nearly falls off the counter. 

"What?" he hisses, knowing full well that Derek can hear him. "You invited him to _dinner_?" 

If this is some weird attempt at an apology for the crappy two cents he put into their relationship, then Stiles does not want it. And if he's trying to help encourage a resolution between them then Stiles _really_ does not want it. He's had enough of his father's meddling to last time. 

As far as Stiles is concerned his father is not allowed to have opinions on anything he does. Ever again. Not if he wants to keep up a relationship between them. That's totally fair. 

The sheriff grimaces at his tone. "No, Stiles. He asked if he could borrow some tools." 

Derek wanted to borrow tools? From what Stiles has seen, he's clearly already got his own. What is he coming to Stiles' dad for? 

Stiles narrows his eyes suspiciously. "You don't have tools," he says. "You're not handy. You broke your thumb using a hammer when I was ten." 

"Yes," he grumbles, seemingly unimpressed by the reminder. "But I still own a tool box. Can you help Derek find it? It's in the garage. Might have moved since we cleaned it out the other day." 

His tone is perfectly innocent but Stiles can't ignore the way he's avoiding his eyes. He's not trying to get Stiles to spend time with Derek? Why on earth would his father want that? He couldn't possibly be trying something so stupid. Not after Stiles stopped talking to him for four years after the last time. 

"Fine," he mutters, stalking towards the door, prepared for an uncomfortable few minutes with the ex-love of his life. 

When he yanks it open Derek is standing there and he barely manages an expression that might resemble a greeting. Stiles watches him scratch the back of his neck, uneasy, at the sight of him. Which doesn't make much sense to Stiles because he thought they at least started sorting out their problems the other day. 

After Derek pulled his head out of his ass and signed the papers. 

Stiles isn't sure how he's suddenly acting so uncertain. They were friends before they were married after all. Well, enemies first but time changes things. 

"You don't have to get all weird," Stiles says, without saying hello. "We're divorced. Whoop dee do." 

Derek relaxes a little at those words. "Right. How could I have thought it would be awkward." 

He is way too hungry to be dealing with Derek's sass right now. "C'mon. I'll help you find the tool box. Though I hope my dad hasn't tried to impress you with any of his imaginary skills. He's a terrible handy man." 

Stiles leads him over to the garage and Derek follows without any comment. Though the lack of reply seems strange as well. Stiles turns back to face him and catches Derek's carefully detached interest. 

"Hold on," he says slowly, remembering some of the broken down things in the house that have suddenly been repaired since he left. "Are you my dad's handy man?" 

Derek's seems unexpectedly embarrassed. "Sometimes. When he needs to fix things." 

"Oh my God, you're the worst," Stiles mutters, disappearing into the now clean and unrecognisable space. 

He heads towards the shelving where the tool box used to sit, out of reach and gathering dust after his mom wasn't around to do the odd jobs anymore, only it's not there. Isaac must have put it somewhere else while they were cleaning it out. 

"Does it really bother you that I spend time with your father?" Derek wonders, helping him search. 

Stiles laughs outright. "Well it's super weird. And hypocritical for one." 

Derek just raises an eyebrow at him. 

"Oh come on, you know how much he didn't like you before, and what, suddenly you're pals now? Seriously?" 

He pushes a pile of photo albums out of the way and spots the corner of the tool box, wedged underneath the shelf. Stiles takes one end and Derek kneels down and grabs the other, so they can pull it free. They lift it up together. 

"If it's a problem I can-" 

"God," Stiles says, dropping his side of the tool box which does absolutely nothing since Derek was carrying all the weight anyway. "Do what you want. I'm not stopping you. It's just weird." 

"Okay," he says, leaving it at that. "Tell your dad I said thanks and I'll have it back to him by the end of the week." 

Stiles manages a nod but Derek's kind of bemused when he turns to take the tool box down the driveway. That's when Stiles realises that he can't see the truck. 

"You didn't drive here?" he asks, following after him almost automatically. 

Derek pauses, like he didn't expect Stiles to keep walking with him. "Guess I needed the fresh air." 

He stops then, right in the middle of Stiles' driveway to take a deep breath as if he needs it and Stiles can't remember when he last saw him this relaxed. Living in a monster town and facing constant threat of death would do that to you. But Derek seems pretty chill right now. 

A breeze is picking up, pushing gently against the material of their shirts and Derek sort of rolls on the back of his feet with it, letting out a soft sigh. Derek seems to come back to himself a second later, realising what he's doing. 

That he's just standing at the edge of Stiles' driveway breathing the world in. 

He glances back, catching Stiles watching him and hastily ducks his head as if he's embarrassed. There's a warm feeling stirring in Stiles' chest at the sight. Which only annoys him to no end. 

He's still so angry at Derek. There shouldn't be any warm feelings. Stiles finally understands what happened to them so long ago, but he knows the blame of their failed relationship falls on Derek. He knew all along what Stiles _thought_ had happened. He should have said something. 

All those times Stiles missed him, all those times he wondered how it all went wrong, Derek could have saved their marriage. 

He just _chose_ not to. 

And Stiles is furious about it. He understands that thinking Stiles had burned to death in a house fire that Derek blamed himself for, was literally the worst thing that could have happened to him. Stiles understand how that might have finally been the tipping point in forcing Derek to face all of his issues. 

But what he doesn't understand, is how Derek never tried to clear the air between them after. When he'd knocked down the Hale house, built himself a beautiful home, found a therapist he visits regularly and got himself a job. And Beacon Hills stopped being constantly invaded by vicious monsters. 

As far as Stiles is concerned, Derek seems very put together right now. 

Settled down. Stable. 

So then why didn't he come looking for Stiles again? 

He realises suddenly, that he has to ask. He can't just keep speculating on it, he needs that answer. 

"After things started to get better for you," he starts, hesitant and unsure. "Why didn't you try and find me? Explain what happened?" 

Derek tenses up and it's impossible to compare this Derek to the soft, relaxed one a second ago. "I figured it was too late," he admits. "It was my mistake. I had to bear the consequences of it." 

"But did I?" Stiles asks. "Because I dealt with those consequences. For a long time, Derek." 

His expression is tight. But not like earlier. Derek doesn't shut down at emotionally probing questions anymore. His face is raw, upset, open and Stiles almost can't even look at him. 

"I know an apology would never be good enough to make up for what I put you through. What I let you believe." 

"No," he mutters. "It wouldn't be good enough." 

Derek just nods, as if he always knew this was coming, and he doesn't give any excuses. Though Stiles would admit being kidnapped by vampires and nearly drained is a damn good one. 

But Derek doesn't say anything. He just steps off Stiles' driveway and disappears down the street without another word. 

Stiles watches him go, dissatisfied in spite of himself.  
  
  
  
  


There's someone outside of Scott's house. 

It's not a delivery person because Stiles can't see a truck and if they were one of Scott's friends, they'd know he's working at the clinic today. Stiles feels wholly suspicious when he goes to answer the door. 

Allison is standing on Scott's stoop, right next to his potted geraniums. Scott has potted geraniums now. Honestly. 

"Allison," he says, surprised. "Scott's not here." 

She smiles at him a little uncertainly. "I'm here to see you, Stiles." 

"Oh," is all he can manages before he steps back to let her inside. 

She wasn't at the bar the other night and Stiles hasn't seen her around town. In fact, since coming back, Stiles hasn't seen Allison at all. She heads straight towards the kitchen island, clearly familiar with Scott's place. Even if they aren't together anymore. 

"I owe you a huge apology," she admits and Stiles finally realises where this is going. "I knew what they were doing, and I didn't stop them even when it didn't sit right with me. But I still never came and told you myself, so I'm just as culpable in this. I'm so sorry, Stiles." 

He doesn't take a seat next to her. "You want a coffee?" 

Allison nods, though she seems like she was expecting more than that. A bit more anger maybe. Stiles isn't too sure, but he might be all yelled out. His voice definitely feels scratchy. 

And it's not like Allison is the only one who did it. The whole pack was involved in Derek's lie. Stiles is beyond shitty about that. 

"Look," he says, getting out two mugs from Scott's cupboard. "I know all this shit was complicated, and I'm so furious with you guys for what you did. But I do understand how it happened." 

"It was still wrong of us," she says. "You don't need to forgive us for this, Stiles. I know everyone is probably hopeful that you will. Scott, especially." 

Isn't that the truth. Scott made Stiles this outrageous breakfast this morning before he left for work. As if he's trying to give penance through the art of cooking and delicious free food. It might be partially working. Stiles appreciates the effort anyway. 

"Yeah, I know. How did you find out I was here anyway? I haven't seen you since I got here." 

Allison hesitates a little. "That's probably because I don't really talk to the pack anymore. Cora came over to my place yesterday to tell me you were here and that you finally knew about everything." 

Stiles turns to stare at her, surprised. "You don't talk to the pack anymore?" 

"We were fighting constantly over this," she says. "I got into it with Derek. A lot. But the pack didn't want to have that discussion, Derek was too fragile in the beginning. I helped at first but I didn't want to be a part of it, or a pack that could do something like this to one of their own. And I definitely didn't want to be around Derek. They're not my pack anymore." 

But she still never came to New York. She never tracked Stiles down and told him the truth. But, then again, it's not like anyone else in the pack did either. Not even his own father. 

Stiles understands that pack hierarchies make it harder, nearly impossible, to disobey their alpha. But there were humans in the pack too. They could have said something. Anyone could have said something. But they didn't. 

So yeah, Stiles doesn't owe any of them fucking anything if he doesn't feel like it. But knowing that and actually cutting them out for good are two different things. 

He might have done that for a while, but Stiles always hoped eventually they'd come back to him. It's going to take a lot more than apologies before he can even think about trusting them again. 

And what if something else goes wrong with Derek next time? Stiles has no guarantee that the pack won't just prioritise Derek over him all over again. It's a shitty thought. But Stiles also knows if he was in that situation, if it came down to keeping Derek out of further harm, then he'd do whatever he could to make sure that wouldn't happen. 

Even now, those protective instincts haven't faded. And he knows that Derek is the same, he was willing to give up his own happiness in the hope that Stiles would stay safe. Even if that might have been motivated by a self-destructive streak. 

Stiles can't fault the pack for doing something he would have done in their position. But he knows he doesn't have to forgive them for it. Stiles holds all the power right now. If he wanted, he could head back to New York tomorrow and never see any of them ever again. 

He knows he could do that. 

But the thing is, in spite of everything, Stiles also knows that he doesn't _want_ to. He won't do that to himself again. It was hard enough the first time. 

Stiles sets the mug down in front of Allison, lost in his own thoughts. 

"I know this means nothing to you," she continues. "I know it's ridiculous that I could even think coming to you right now would solve anything. But I just want you to know, what Derek did. The decision he made, he didn't just get away with it. I wish you'd never been left alone." 

"I wasn't alone," he mutters. "It wasn't like that. I didn't need anyone." 

Allison stares at him. "Everyone needs someone, Stiles. You don't have to sugarcoat what it was like for you. I know it was awful." 

It honestly wasn't that bad. Stiles didn't fall apart over it. He can be fiercely practical when need be. Derek didn't want him, so he moved on. It was really that simple. 

"You're talking like I was waiting by the window every day hoping Derek would return from the war or something," he says, rolling his eyes at the thought. "Yeah, it was shit for a few months. But I changed colleges, I made new friends. I got an amazing, perfect girlfriend. I moved past it." 

The edge of hesitation in her expression makes Stiles think that Allison doesn't believe him. Which is completely outrageous. Of course it was shit. Stiles probably punished his liver more than humanly possible in those first few months, but he came out of it eventually. Stronger probably. And definitely more guarded of his heart going into the future. 

"I just want to support you like I should have from the very beginning," she says. "What can I do to help you? To make this easier? I can help you strong arm Derek if he's refusing to sign the papers." 

Stiles is pretty sure she's offering to use her crossbows on someone. He is 100 per cent on board with that. 

"Derek already signed them," he explains. "I got this handled." 

That seems to surprise her a little. Allison takes a thoughtful sip of her mug like she's trying to think of some other possible way in which she might end up shooting somebody full of arrows. Stiles supports her dreams. 

"Do you want somewhere else to stay?" she asks. "If things are too hard with Scott or your dad? I know I'm not your ideal person, considering what I've done, but the invitation is there." 

He can't deny he's a little taken aback by the offer. But it still means a lot. Even if Allison was still involved in what happened. She's the first one to offer him help. He doesn't need it, but the thought is there. 

"Thanks," he says. "Can I keep you in mind if things get dicey?" 

Allison nods. "Here's my new number," she says, handing him her business card. "Call me anytime." 

The card has all of her details, including her new address and the label of consultant underneath her name. Stiles reads it through twice with a frown. 

"You're a consultant?" he wonders, interested. 

"Yeah," she says. "I run an independent organisation that protects humans or werewolves against those they can't protect themselves against. I also consult with your dad on some police cases." 

That sounds like an interesting job. Is she running the group of hunters that used to live here in Beacon Hills now? Or has that group mostly disbanded? So much has changed since he left. 

"I have to ask," he says, eventually. "Is all this, everything that happened, is that why you broke up with Scott?" 

It might be a little too probing, but after the shit they've put him through, Stiles deserves a few uncomfortable questions. They owe him that at least. 

"I'm not sure," she admits honestly. "I definitely didn't enjoy how Scott could keep lying to his best friend like that for so long, but you were my friend too, so I really have no excuse either. I think it added, to a list of problems that had been building up between us for some time. But it wasn't the cause." 

Stiles swallows a mouthful of coffee and thinks about it a little. "I appreciate you coming to see me," he decides, eventually. 

Allison seems to realise that they've reached the end of their conversation. Or as much as Stiles is willing to deal with right now. She nods and stands up, abandoning her mug on the counter. "Call me for anything," she says softly. "And this time, I swear, I'll be here for you." 

And Stiles doesn't doubt her. In moments like these it's very easy to see how Scott could have fallen in love with her. "Thanks," he says. "I'll keep it in mind." 

Allison smiles and walks towards the door. "Bye, Stiles." 

And then she disappears outside while he's standing there still holding her business card, clutched between two fingers like a secret fragment of possibility.  
  
  
  
  


Stiles dozes off on the couch and he's barely asleep for an hour before his phone rings. 

It's an unknown number and he glares at it suspiciously while he yawns, letting it slowly ring out. Eventually though, he decides to answer it. 

"Hello?" 

"Hey, Stiles," Erica says. "Are you busy right now?" 

Stiles glances around the empty apartment, then at himself spread out artfully across the cushions. "No? And how did you get this number?" 

He changed phones in the last four years. Erica shouldn't even know this number, let alone be ringing him from it. 

"Scott gave it to me," she says, and that would make sense since Scott is the only one who got the privilege of Stiles giving him his new contact details. 

Why Erica even wanted to contact him in the first place is another question. 

"Are you hungry?" she asks. "Do you want to have lunch?" 

Stiles thinks about it. "Uh- yes?" 

"Great," she says with a bit too much forced enthusiasm. "Want to come around to my place? Need the address?" 

Stiles is sensing there's a trap in here somehow, but he's willing to play along. "I was there the other day, remember?" 

"Right," Erica agrees, and she sounds a little flustered. "Right, yeah. So you're cool with burgers, right? I was just going to order from the joint down the road from here." 

Stiles _is_ pretty hungry. "Burgers are great. See you in twenty?" 

Erica agrees wholeheartedly and hangs up a second later. Stiles has no idea what the hell is going on.  
  
  
  
  


"Heyyy," he says, once Erica unlocks her front door and lets him inside. Her long hair is pulled back into a messy bun and she's wearing a pair of comfortable looking track pants. "Don't you have work today?" 

Erica only shrugs, leading him back into the living room. "I took a sick day," she explains. "I've got my period." 

Stiles doesn't remember her having especially bad cramps during this time before he realises there's an additional problem. Erica is a werewolf. It's different for female wolves. Having their period is the equivalent to the strange and mysterious power of the full moon which basically makes them batshit. Only female wolves get to experience that fun twice a month. 

Except it's very clearly _not_ fun. 

Stiles realises her claws are out and wonders if he should be asking her if his safety might be at risk right now. Definitely a good call that she didn't go to work today. 

She collapses onto the couch and Stiles sees the wrapped burgers sitting on the coffee table, waiting for them both. They must have come a little while ago but Erica chose not to eat without him. When she passes him a burger without a word and sets up the TV to play a movie, Stiles gets settled and starts unwrapping his food. 

Somehow he was expecting more complications. Another bombshell dropped. More secrets revealed. Another fight. But suddenly it's seeming more like Erica just wanted to spend time with him. On a day when she probably isn't feeling too great. 

"What do you feel like watching?" she asks, and it's much too sincere to be anything but an actual request. 

Erica really did just want to hang out. It's not unusual that after so much radio silence between them Stiles might see the novelty in that. There's no trap. There's no trick. It's just Erica. 

"Something with Jim Carrey in it," he suggests. 

Erica moves over to the dvd pile and rummages around for a second before holding up Liar Liar with a questioning look. Oh yeah. That's happening. Stiles takes a huge bite of his burger while Erica puts the dvd in the player. She returns to the couch after it starts loading, grabbing the last burger on the table as she settles in. 

Stiles doesn't really know what this is right now. He and Erica hadn't been super close before he left and they certainly never hung out like this. They'd spend time together during pack meetings or training as a group. Not just the two of them. 

He's not entirely sure if this is her awkward way of attempting to say sorry. But either way Stiles isn't turning up free food. And the burger is good food. It's been so long since Stiles watched Liar Liar but as soon as they get to the part where Jim Carrey tries to lie about the blue pen and ends up with it all over his face instead, it all starts coming back. 

Erica laughs so hard, she sprays lettuce onto her sweatpants and then Stiles laughs at that because the sight of it is hilarious. This movie really is a gem. Stiles finishes his burger and gets up to fetch him and Erica glasses of water since it makes him thirsty. 

He assumed he'd be more tense here, but Stiles just relaxes straight into the couch and gets spread out. There are a lot of werewolves in this house, but since they all appear to have jobs they've got the apartment to themselves. Which is a bit of a relief. 

Taking a break from everyone, especially when things have gotten so intense lately, definitely seemed like the best call. 

They're barely in the court scene where Jim Carrey excuses himself to the bathroom in order to beat himself up when the front door opens up unexpectedly and someone walks straight inside. 

Erica mustn't have locked it. But she goes stiff all over when she recognises the heart beat. Stiles recognises the voice a second later. 

"Erica I brought you some chocolate," Derek says, at a low tone which must mean he's assuming only werewolves are present. "And I was reading that camomile tea can help with cramps so I-" 

He trails off when he catches sight of Stiles sitting on the couch with Erica, still dressed in his high vis jacket and work gear as if he's come straight over here on his lunch break. Just to bring these items to Erica. 

The expression on Derek's face is genuine shock at seeing him here, but Stiles isn't so sure this is entirely coincidental. Erica could very easily have set this up. Considering her earlier comments about Lydia, she could be trying to force them back together. It wouldn't be that impossible. 

Except Erica's face is filled with horror and a fresh side of anger to liven it up. "Why didn't you call first?" she hisses, sounding annoyed. 

Derek's kind of standing frozen as if he's hoping that if he doesn't move that maybe they won't see him. "Oh," he starts, confused. "I didn't- sorry." 

Then he sets the two blocks of chocolate and box of camomile tea he's carrying atop the counter and spins on his heel to make a quick exit. 

Stiles sighs and climbs to his feet. 

"I'm sorry," Erica rushes, upset. "I swear I had no idea he'd come over here." 

He doesn't doubt her. "It's all good. I'll be right back. Give me a second." 

Stiles catches Derek in the parking lot, walking at an impressive speed towards his truck. "Hey," he calls. "What did I say about being weird?" 

Derek turns back to him and he's a complicated mess of emotions trying to pull off casualness. "I'm not being weird." 

Stiles snorts. "Yeah, okay. That's believable." 

He looks like he wants to just dive into his truck and flee into the distance, but Derek stands his ground. "Sorry. I don't know how to do this." 

It's really not that complicated. "We're divorced," Stiles says. "You really don't have to do anything." 

That doesn't seem to be what Derek was trying to say because he looks frustrated. "I mean, I don't know how to act around you. My previous ex-partners are either dead or have tried to kill me." 

"Well I'm not at that stage yet," Stiles mutters. "So I think you're in the clear. If I do have the sudden urge to kill, you'll be the first to know." 

Derek manages a smile. "Thanks. Appreciate it." 

"Were you really trying to give Erica chocolate and tea?" he teases, unable to reconcile this kind of mother hen act with past learn or die werewolf leader Derek. "Do you make care packages now?" 

It's weird to think that he might not only be capable of taking care of himself now, but of the other people around him too. Instead of just surviving from each day to the next. 

But Derek only shrugs. "She said that her cramps were bad this time around. I thought I'd- help." 

Stiles would laugh at Derek's expression, but it would be too easy to make fun now. Low hanging fruit and all that. "Dude, you are so weird right now. You didn't buy her tampons as well did you?" 

Derek seems to realise he's the source of Stiles' amusement except he doesn't seem that irritated by it. "Jackson bought her tampons yesterday." 

And isn't that a beautiful piece of information that Stiles would like to stow away for later? Jackson buying tampons. What a strange and wonderful gift. 

"This is too good," he says, laughing. "Jackson buying tampons." 

Derek stands up a little straighter. "If half of our population menstruates, it seems pretty illogical that we shouldn't at least be familiar with these kind of hygiene products." 

Stiles is gasping for air now. "Oh my God," he says gleefully. "Who are you?" 

Derek must get a little embarrassed then because he turns to open the door to his truck as if he's trying to avoid eye contact. He hesitates briefly before climbing into it. "Isaac wanted me to invite you to the pack dinner tonight at my place. I wasn't going to ask because, obviously, I knew you wouldn't want to-" 

"I'll be there," Stiles says, surprising himself. 

Derek looks surprised too. "Okay," he says uncertainly. "Everyone is turning up around six." 

Things seem kind of awkward again. Stiles takes a step back, pretending to be very interested with the pile of gravel beneath his shoes. "I'll come over with Scott." 

"Okay," Derek says. "There are some werewolves with us that you haven't met yet." 

Like Stiles has forgotten about them. He's planning to find out as much as possible about those new additions as he can. They were in a photo hanging on Derek's wall, obviously they mean something. 

"Sure, okay. Hey, you've been hearing about those arson attacks against werewolves, haven't you?" he asks. 

Derek's mouth thins into a disapproving line. "Yeah, I've heard of it. Your dad has been working a few of the cases." 

"But you guys are all protected, right?" he asks. "You've got that witch. You're all good, aren't you?" 

He doesn't answer straight away but Derek's giving Stiles this look which he can't decipher. "We're good." 

Stiles nods, satisfied to hear that at least. He starts walking back to Erica's apartment. "Hey, you've heard of those Rebuilder guys too, haven't you?" he calls over his shoulder. "It's pretty cool of them to be helping out werewolves like that, huh?" 

Derek just gives him a strange look and doesn't reply. Maybe he hasn't heard of them after all. 

"See you later," Stiles says, hurrying back to Erica and Liar Liar. 

He's about to miss the best part.  
  
  
  
  


"Hey are you doing anything tonight?" Stiles asks Scott almost as soon as he walks through the front door. 

Scott looks adorably confused for a moment before his brain catches up with the question. "No?" 

"Want to come to a pack dinner at Derek's?" he wonders, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. 

He mustn't succeed very well because Scott basically drops his backpack onto the floor, mouth dropping open. "You want to go to a pack dinner?" he repeats. "With the pack?" 

"I want to meet the two new werewolves in the pack," Stiles amends quickly, and it's not totally a lie. 

"June and Corin? Yeah, they're alright. June likes to pick fights with Sayena though." 

If anything, that only makes Stiles like her even more. And he hasn't even _met_ her yet. At least new people gives Stiles the excuse to hide amongst them if things get a little too uncomfortable with the rest of the pack. Like if the bring up any of the explosive history between them. 

This evening is very likely to end badly. 

"So you're sure you want to do this?" Scott asks. "I mean, you can be angry at us. You don't have to play nice or anything." 

Stiles only rolls his eyes. "I'm actually offended you would think I ever play nice. And I am totally livid, thanks for asking. But that doesn't mean I can't socialise and meet new people." 

"Okay," Scott agrees. "Whatever you want. I'm in. Just let me change out of these clothes." 

He disappears into his bedroom and Stiles goes to grab a pair of shoes from the guest room where all his stuff is hiding out. He sends a short text explaining to Lydia how things are going, and only feels marginally guilty about how little the text actually says. 

He'll call her tonight. Once he gets back to Scott's. 

Scott comes back out a few minutes later and then they're climbing into Stiles' rental car and heading over to Derek's. His driveway is already filled with unrecognisable cars. 

When Stiles climbs out he nearly runs smack bang into a woman with wild, dark curls that frame her face and her grin is just as wild and significantly wolfish. "You're Stiles," she says. "I'm June." 

June apparently does not understand boundaries. Or the concept of personal space. "I am Stiles," he admits. "What gave me away?" 

Abruptly, she extends her arm, whipping it past him in a startling and violent manner before he realises she's pointing at something. "Derek did," she says as if it was obvious. 

Stiles squints into the fading light and realises that she's actually pointing at Derek in the distance, who's coming out of the woods with Sayena. Derek doesn't look like he's saying anything but something must be funny because Sayena throws her head back and laughs. Man, Stiles has some really irrational problems with that witch. 

Derek stuffs his hands into his pockets when he approaches them, and from his expression he seems kind of caught out. Did he not want Stiles to know he and Sayena are a thing? It's a little late for that. 

"So you've met June," Derek says, stopping before them, Sayena by his side and looking very pleased with herself. 

"I met June," Stiles replies, carefully avoiding looking at Sayena in case she makes him mad enough to blow up something else. "But there's another one?" 

"That would be me," the man appearing out from behind one of the cars says as he moves to join them. He extends a hand out towards Stiles, no claws, thankfully. "I'm Corin." 

"Hey," he says, shaking Corin's hand. "Good to meet you." 

The guy smiles at him, though he glances at Derek first as if he can automatically sense where the source of tension is coming from. They probably know Stiles is his husband. Ex-husband. Derek would have told them that. 

Right? 

"Who's hungry?" Boyd greets from Derek's front porch. 

And then food is the priority and Stiles stops worrying about it.  
  
  
  
  


Dinner isn't as awkward as Stiles anticipated it might be. They sit outside where there's a table long enough to house all of them and Stiles ends up next to Scott and Cora. He doesn't know the situation between Derek and his sister right now, since she's the one who blew his lies wide open but they don't seem openly hostile. 

They might have already sorted things out. 

The conversation flows on even without Stiles' input and since Scott is in the middle of texting the girl he had a date with the other night. From his reactions, they're either sexting or they're organising a booty call. Scott seems happy anyway. 

Erica didn't dress herself up much since Stiles last saw her, but she does wolf down the biggest amount of food before drifting off against Corin's shoulder. He must be used to it because he doesn't freak out or accidentally dislodge her. 

Everyone is pretty relaxed. It's very easy to let the atmosphere take hold of him. Especially since Cora is feeling so chatty. She's been asking questions about his degree since he sat down. The classes he's taking. What his favourite parts of New York are. 

Stiles has been answering so many questions it's a miracle he managed to get through his plate at all. 

But there's no huge disaster. Even if there was an iffy moment where June made an innocuous joke about husbands and everyone glanced at Stiles and Derek. Things could have been worse. 

At least their new additions don't seem power hungry or unreasonably evil. He's got no complaints about the werewolves living in their pack. 

But the witch on the other hand- 

It's really actually kind of impressive that he hasn't accidentally cursed her. Or removed her eyebrows or something. Magic is strange and Stiles certainly has no control over it. 

Everyone starts to head home before it's nine o'clock. And that's about when Scott finally ditches him. 

"You don't mind if Sasha picks me up do you?" he asks, handing Stiles the key to his house. "And I don't come home tonight?" 

Stiles just shrugs. "Hey, when the booty calls. I'm gonna go check in on my dad for a bit anyway." 

Scott beams at him and says his goodbyes to everyone else lingering in the drive before he's taking off down the end of the driveway to where a pair of headlights is pulling in towards him. 

Derek approaches him then. "Do you mind if I get a lift with you?" he asks. "I've got to return your father's tool box and I have a few questions about work. I can just walk back." 

Stiles doesn't answer immediately. "Or I can just drive myself," Derek says, as if he's just realised what he suggested. Even as he backs away. 

Cora and Jackson are climbing into his Porsche. Isaac, Erica and Boyd in a run down looking car, with Corin and June get into their own separate vehicles. 

"Come on," Stiles says, calling Derek back. "Grab my dad's tool box." 

Derek nods and jogs on over to his garage while the rest of the cars start peeling out of the driveway. 

"Having fun?" Sayena wonders, in his ear. 

Stiles jumps violently and her smile widens. "I was," he says pointedly, not bothering with pleasantries. 

Sayena taps a finger against her forehead and Stiles has no idea what that's supposed to mean. 

"See you round, sparky," she says before walking into the trees, presumably in the direction of where her house sits. 

Or she's just vanishing into thin air for the fun of it. Stiles is glad to see her go. Derek comes back a moment later and he's carrying the tool box. 

"So you work with my dad now?" Stiles ask as they both climb into his rental car. 

Derek shrugs kind of evasively. "Kind of. Not exactly." 

So unhelpful responses which reveal next to nothing, it is then. "Oh yeah, that cleared things up." 

The engine starts with an easy hum and Stiles turns on the headlights, buckling up and heading back out onto the road again. Derek rests the tool box in his lap. 

"We don't work together exactly," he elaborates. "We just have a common connection." 

"And you're avoiding giving me a direct answer why?" 

"Because I sometimes deal with sensitive information and there a privacy laws." 

Well, okay. That is a fairly incontestable answer. But what kind of sensitive information would Derek even need from someone in the police department? Stiles lets that occupy his brain for a while until they're pulling up beside his father's house. 

Stiles switches off the engine and they climb out together. It doesn't take long for his dad to answer the door when Stiles knocks. 

"Hey Dad," he greets, ignoring the way his father's interest piques at the sight of both he and Derek together. "I came by for a hello and Derek came by to drop off tools and sensitive information." 

His father's expression clears with understanding. "Of course," he says. "Do you mind waiting for a bit while we sort this out? Just stocked up on those choc chip cookies you like." 

"You shouldn't be having those," Stiles says, but he walks past them and down the hall in order to track down the cookies immediately. 

Normally, he'd be trying to listen at the door but Stiles is too busy chewing on a cookie to bother with any serious surveillance. Derek set the tool box down in the hallway and they're barely in his father's office for two minutes, before they reappear. With Derek carrying several manila folders that Stiles can't apparently know about. 

"What's this?" he demands, pointing at the folders whilst taking a huge bite. 

Derek startles a little before his features shift into a frown. "Sensitive information," he repeats firmly and he truly is no fun at all. 

"Killjoy," he says and nearly trips over the tool box. "I'll put this back," he decides, picking it up since it nearly just killed him. 

Derek thanks his father for the folders and excuses himself, just as Stiles is heading back out to put the box back in the garage. "Are you doing some illegal shit?" he wonders. "Is that why it's sensitive information?" 

"No," Derek says unhelpfully, because of course. 

Stiles heads into the garage and puts the tool box on one of the empty shelves. When he comes back out Derek hasn't reach the end of the drive yet. 

"You sure it's not illegal?" 

Derek turns back around to face him, purely for the chance to give Stiles an unimpressed expression that he is very familiar with. "It's not illegal. It's for work." 

By then Stiles has reached him and it's strange to think he might be leaving soon. That he won't be seeing Derek like this anymore. He's watching him closely now and everything about him is still so familiar. He could trace the planes of Derek's face just from memory.

“Stiles?”

“Hmm?” he says absently, not drawing his eyes away from Derek. 

He doesn’t know if he actually wants to go another four years without seeing him again. Not like last time. 

How weird it is to be back in this same situation. Wanting something from Derek so badly and being unable to leave. Derek turns towards the person calling Stiles’ name and stiffens, the easy smile sliding off his face.

“Stiles,” she repeats, and his brain finally catches up with why her voice is recognisable when he turns to look.

Then his soul basically leaves his body.

“ _Lydia_?” he gasps, horrified. “What are you doing here?”

She’s staring between them both significantly, instantly picking up on the underlying tension. “You didn’t sound like yourself on the phone. I thought things were going really bad with your father so I came here to support you.”

But she’s eyeing Derek a little too keenly. Her gaze travels up and down his body, in an assessing way, checking him out. There's definitely a lot to look at. “You’re him, aren’t you?” she asks, mouth tense because she’s got amazing observation skills and managed to put it together. “The ex-boyfriend.”

Derek watches her expression shift with growing anger and glances back at Stiles' shocked face before faking a careless shrug. “I’m no one.”

He appreciates that lie, really. But Stiles made this bed and it's about time he finally lay down in it. “He’s my husband,” he blurts out.

Lydia eyes widen as if that’s the last thing she expected to hear. “Your what?”

God, this is terrible. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. When I left Beacon Hills, I left him behind as well. When I said I needed to patch things up with my dad that was the truth, but I also needed Derek to sign the divorce papers.”

“You’ve been married this _whole_ time?” she snaps, voice loud enough to travel two houses over before she's twirling around to stalk away, unwilling to hear the rest.

Only Stiles hurries after her. “No, please. It wasn’t like that. We weren’t together even if we were technically married. It was complicated.”

Lydia's fumbling for her keys, looking the least put together that he's ever seen her. This has clearly thrown her off balance. Why didn't he say something sooner? Stiles has only made this worse. 

“No, it’s really not. Complicated would be escaping an intense relationship which is what I thought you were doing. Not staying married for another four years because you can’t bear to be parted from him.”

Dear God it's nowhere near that level of obsession. He can bear to be parted from Derek. He did it before! 

“It’s not like that,” he cries. “He refused to sign every time my lawyer sent him the paperwork.”

Lydia spins and stares at him critically. Then Stiles realises that Derek's been following, glancing between them while they're arguing, files held against his chest like some kind of shield. He looks like he was trying to make his escape unnoticed, but good luck with that now.

“He’s telling the truth,” Derek promises, but his eyes are shifting colours and his hands seem like they're barely holding back his claws. This isn't just upsetting for Lydia.

She's staring intently at Derek again and the rest falls into place. “You’re a werewolf,” she realises, eyes widening at the realisation.

Now is not the time for _that_ discussion. If Lydia would just let him explain- 

“I was born like this,” Derek admits.

But Lydia’s eyes only narrow at him. “Then you should know better. Werewolves would never encroach on another relationship. They respect those boundaries too much, even if I’m human. Who the hell raised you?”

“Whoa,” Stiles says, darting between them at the mention of Derek's family. “You don’t talk to him like that. Okay? It’s me you’re angry at, Lydia. You don’t even know Derek.”

This is so not how Stiles wanted to explain this. He'd wanted to tell her when the idea of a husband seemed far away and almost unbelievable, not when said husband is standing right next to him. And he's looking all rugged and handsome. 

He wishes this particular confrontation with Derek present could have been avoided somehow. 

“You’re right, Stiles,” she snaps. “I don’t know him. And I’m not sure if I know you either.”

She walks away again and Stiles scrambles after her. “Please, I don’t love him anymore,” he begs. “I want to be with you.”

He hears rather than sees Derek’s sharp inhale behind him. Fuck. Lydia isn’t even meeting his eyes anymore, she’s watching Derek. And that's when the anger finally leaves her face. 

“That was cruel,” she says quietly. “Even by your standards.”

Then she’s finally got her keys out and climbs into a rental car, much nicer than the one Stiles has, before driving away.

Well that went the worst it could possible go. Guess Stiles lost a husband and a fiancée in the span of a few days. That's got to be some kind of record. He realises he should probably say something to Derek, since he basically just renounced him in front of Lydia but when Stiles turns back to look at him, he’s gone.

But his dad is standing there in the doorway, eyebrows raised and wondering what the hell all the commotion is.

  
  
  


Stiles barely sits down in his dad’s kitchen while his father moves around to make coffee. He hardly gets a moment of peace before his father is asking for an explanation.

"What on earth is going on, kid?" 

If only Stiles had an answer that made any sense. “I might have… refrained from admitting I was married. Still married, technically.”

“Jesus,” the sheriff sighs.

Yeah, pretty big oversight on Stiles' part. He knew that was coming back to bite him in the ass and still didn't do anything to fix the situation. Like maybe telling the truth. But there's a difference between knowing that you have to do something and actually resolving to do it. 

Stiles has been avoiding this for much too long. 

“I didn’t tell anyone at first and then it just seemed strange to admit it once we’d started dating. We were friends for two years before that, and not once did I ever bring up the fact that I was married.”

His dad sets down a mug of coffee on the table in front of him. “Before you came here to meet your secret husband would have been a great place to start.”

He makes a fair point. But his dad isn't exactly the poster child for amazing advice these past years. At this point Stiles is just taking everything with a grain of salt. But he might be feeling a little sheepish.

“God, Stiles,” his dad mutters, smiling at him with utter fondness. “And you thought Derek had trouble communicating.”

Stiles just rolls his eyes and starts blowing steadily on the surface of his coffee to cool it down, while his father takes a seat next to him. "I'm sure you'll work it out," he says, out of nowhere. "She came all this way here just to see you. She cares for you. Give her some time to adjust to the news."

That seems like a reasonable thing to do. Stiles could manage that. If he didn't already think that Lydia's bought herself a one way plane ticket back to New York. If he ever sees her again it'll be a miracle. 

There’s a knock at the door before he can tell his father that and Stiles slides out of his seat.

“I’ll get it,” he says, abandoning his drink and jogging down the hallway.

He's not going to handle it if it's Derek right now, attempting to apologise for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or it's more likely he's upset at what Stiles said before, and he's come here for another fight. He must have know that was the outcome eventually. 

Stiles came here looking for a divorce and that was it. Derek shouldn't have seemed as shocked as he was. It's not like Stiles kept a fundamental secret that affected the outcome of their relationship from _him_. 

Does he still sound bitter? They might be divorced now, but Stiles is still mad as hell about it. Derek's lucky he had a mental breakdown and basically self-destructed. Because if Stiles had found out the truth four years ago when the pain of it was still fresh- 

He probably would have made Derek's head explode. 

Except Derek isn't standing behind the door this time. It’s Lydia.

Holy shit. It's _Lydia_. She came back. If Stiles wasn't staring at her right now he would have never believed such a thing was possible. She's a take no shit kind of girl. 

And this is a lot of crap, that Stiles has just dumped on her. 

“Lydia,” he breathes, amazed at the sight of her.

Somehow he really didn’t see it happening. But maybe he jumped the gun in thinking things might be over between them. Maybe, in an completely illogical fashion, Lydia is willing to overlook this huge oversight of his. Maybe there's still hope.

“I realised I didn’t wait for you to explain yourself,” she admits. “I want that explanation now.”

Right. Yes. Of course. Stiles can do that. He can explain things. He's great at explaining things. Amazing even. “Uh- come in?”

She nods and Stiles steps aside to let her into the hallway. And then Lydia walks inside. 

Crap, she's in his house. The house he grew up in. Did it always look this small and dusty? When was the last time his father cleaned up the place? He can feel her admiring the walls as Stiles nervously leads her back into the kitchen where his dad is.

Right. Introductions. Meet the parents. Talking. “Lydia, this is my father, John Stilinski. Dad this is Lydia, my-“

And then he realises he doesn’t know what he should call her. Is it too presumptuous to say fiancée still? Is calling her his girlfriend setting the bar too high? Stiles knows he's not on her good side right now. It's better not to assume anything. 

“Fiancée,” she answers finally after a significant pause. But then Lydia's turning to face him again. “If you still want.”

Does he ever. His dad gets up to shake her hand and then picks up his mug. “Nice to meet you. I think I'd better give you kids some space to talk.”

Then he disappears into his office before Stiles can express gratitude with his eyes.

  
  
  


"I'm sorry, I should have told you," Stiles admits as soon as she sits down. "But I'd already known you for two years and it felt strange to bring it up after so long." 

Lydia accepts the mug full of coffee he passes her. "I always knew you were running away from something. I figured whatever it was you'd eventually feel comfortable enough to tell me. I thought it was just a bad break up not the end of a marriage!" 

Stiles winces. "Yeah, I might not have been very forthcoming about all of that." 

"Tell me," she says, setting her coffee down. "Do you want to marry me, Stiles?" 

The question startles him. Who _wouldn't_ want to marry a woman so perfect? "Of course I do," he insists quickly. "Absolutely." 

"Then you need to be honest with me from now on. No more lies." 

Right. That's fair. That makes total sense. Stiles can absolutely be truthful. No problem. "Okay," he agrees. "How about Derek is the one who bit your ex-boyfriend Jackson? Who also coincidentally lives in this town and is a member of Derek's pack." 

Lydia's mouth purses. "Okay. Fine. Maybe I didn't want to know that." 

Yeah. Stiles doesn't even really want to know that if he's being honest. 

"And how _are_ things with your dad?" she wonders, lowering her voice. 

Stiles hesitates. "Our problems might have been entirely Derek related. In that he disapproved of us and felt it was necessary to convince me I should not be with him. On my wedding day." 

Lydia sighs and tips her head to the ceiling. "Is there any alcohol in this house?" she asks, faintly. 

He hates to disappoint her right now, but that's a no go. "Sorry. Another thing Derek's been up to in the four years he's been sending back my divorce papers was apparently convincing my father to finally confront his drinking problem." 

"Oh," she says, surprised. 

"Yeah," he agrees, sipping from his mug. 

"So did he sign the papers? Are you ready to leave?" 

Stiles finishes swallowing first. "He signed them," he says. "But since I've been back, I've been hoping-" 

Lydia raises an eyebrow at him. "What?" 

"Do you want to get married here instead?" he wonders. "I'd rather do this with my family there. Where I grew up." 

She relaxes a little. "I'm sure there's plenty of beautiful places around here where we could do it. I'd love to annoy my father too, since he's insisting we get married on Tribeca Rooftop. He's insisting it's such a classy establishment." 

Stiles only rolls his eyes. "More like so he can accidentally push me over the edge of the building." 

Lydia doesn't deny it. "Probably." 

"What do you think about nowish?" he wonders. "While I'm still on break." 

She pauses significantly and then sets the mug down. "You want to get married _now_. You've barely got a week left!" 

Stiles merely shrugs. "We said we didn't want anything fancy, didn't we? We could scrape a wedding together in that time." 

Lydia sighs. "You're lucky I've already bought my dress." 

Stiles grins at her. This is going to be so great. "Do you have a place to stay?" he asks. "You can crash with me at Scott's place if you want. I wouldn't recommend any of the hotels in Beacon Hills." 

Lydia seems hesitant about that. "I'm not sure, Stiles. I haven't even met him before." 

"Scott's really easy going," he promises. "I can text him and ask? I'm sure he'd love to meet you." 

His dad comes back into the kitchen. "Or you could both stay here," he says, having clearly overheard them. "My door's always open." 

Lydia raises an eyebrow at Stiles, expectant. "Why don't I take you back to Scott's, and if you don't want to stay there I'll grab my stuff and we'll come here." 

She drinks her coffee and doesn't answer straight away. "Okay. I did want to meet Scott." 

"He's got a booty call right now. I don't think he'll be home until late? If at all." 

"There's biscuits and more coffee here," his father adds. "And we can take some time getting to know each other." 

Lydia smiles at him warmly and Stiles tries not to get annoyed that his father is being so welcoming. When he'd been the exact opposite for Derek. The guy who Stiles probably owes an apology to right now. Especially after the things he said earlier. 

He shouldn't have done it like that.

But Lydia and his father do end up getting along surprisingly well. Stiles can tell that she really likes him, and that his father is impressed too. But it still makes him irrationally angry. And it cheapens a meeting he would have otherwise been enjoying. 

But at least they managed to sort things out. He and Lydia will be getting married. And they'll have their wedding in Beacon Hills. With Stiles' family. And his pack. 

So then why does it still feel like he’s carrying around the same amount of stress as he did when he was lying to her?

  
  
  


It turns out Scott's booty call ended in disaster, since he's home before they arrive, but he's more than friendly when Stiles brings Lydia through his front door. 

"Hey," he says, reaching out to shake her hand. "You must be Lydia." 

"That's me," she says, slipping her hand into his own, smiling. "You've got an amazing place here." 

"Thanks," Scott grins. "I had help decorating." 

Stiles cringes a little, remembering exactly who helped him do that. Avoiding mention of his husband is probably the best bet. Ex-husband. 

"Are you sure it's alright to stay here?" Lydia wonders. "I don't want to impose." 

Scott just waves a hand at her. "No problem. Happy to have you. There's plenty of room." 

Stiles helpfully carries her bag and sets it down in the spare bedroom he's been sleeping in for the past few days. Scott is yawning and seemingly a little disappointed with how his evening went because he says goodnight and heads to his room alone. 

"I don't want to be harsh," Lydia says as soon as she gets settled on the bed and Stiles' hackles raise automatically in preparation of Scott's defence. "But is it okay if I don't meet the rest of the pack before the wedding next week? I really would rather avoid Jackson if I can help it." 

Stiles barely conceals his relief. So she hasn't got anything bad to say about Scott. Good. That's really good. "Sure," he agrees. "I understand that. No problem." 

"You got really upset when I said that stuff to Derek," she says, stroking the bed covers without looking at him. "Should I be worried about that too?" 

He's not sure it's his place to tell this story, but he doesn't want her thinking he's still hung up on his husband. Ex-husband. 

"Derek's entire family burned to death in a fire set by a group of hunters when he was sixteen," he explains. "One of those hunters took advantage of him sexually in order to get the information they used to do it. And then his uncle who nearly burned to death himself, murdered Derek's eldest sister and went on a killing rampage until Derek was forced to kill him too. Cora's all he's got left." 

Lydia is horrified, staring at him open mouthed. 

"So yeah, when you said something against who raised him, I reacted." 

"Oh God," she whispers. "I should never have said that." 

Stiles doesn't want to make her feel bad, but she really shouldn't have. "Which is why I said you don't know anything about him. I guess even now I'm a little overprotective." 

_Jealous_ , his mind supplies unhelpfully, remembering how angry he gets every time he's around Sayena. God, Stiles doesn't have the energy to delve into that right now. 

"I understand that," she says, slowly kicking of her shoes as she leans over to unzip her bag. "He was your husband." 

He freezes at the past-tense not used to hearing it like that. Lydia is too busy pulling out pyjamas that she doesn't see the reaction. But he recovers quickly enough and starts getting undressed as well. 

Lydia switches her jeans out for comfy pants and starts unhooking her bra while Stiles wriggles out of his pants, nearly elbowing the wall when he trips. She disappears into the bathroom to brush her teeth once she's dressed and Stiles heads in after her. 

Once they're finished they climb into bed together, Stiles shutting out the light as he goes. When Lydia curls around him, hand pressing up against his stomach, soft but questioning Stiles realises exactly what she's asking for. 

"I'm really tired," he says quickly, wondering why he can't do this. Why he's not even interested. "Maybe not tonight?" 

Lydia pulls her hand back, but she still leans over to kiss his cheek. "Sure, honey. No problem." 

"I missed you," he whispers, turning over so she's suddenly in his arms. 

Her hair smells amazing and Stiles loves that she snuggles in closer. "I missed you, too." 

It's a while before Stiles can fall asleep. 

  
  
  


Two days later Stiles is going out of his mind and leaves Lydia to the wedding planning while he drives over to the pack's apartment. 

He gets Boyd to give him the address for the construction site Derek is working on. Lydia’s already well into organising the wedding for next week and there have been so many out of towner companies coming in to deliver different things, it’s been the talk of the whole town.

He’s not trying to rub it in Derek’s face. But he definitely needs to make some apologies for what he said about him the other day when Lydia arrived unannounced. Stiles can’t leave things like that between them.

Derek deserves an apology or at least an explanation.

There’s a woman out the front of the house they’re building. But she’s in the construction gear as well as a hard hat, carrying a long piece of wood into the house.

They look like they’re in the middle of starting the frame.

“Excuse me,” he says, calling out to her before she disappears. “Do you happen to know where Derek Hale is?”

She spins around with a wild grin and Stiles recognises her at once. It’s that witchy neighbour, Sayena. Well probably a lot more than Derek’s neighbour. He didn't recognise her with her hair pinned back like it is now.

“Hey there sparky,” she says. “He’s out back. Are you here to declare your passionate love for him?”

“No,” Stiles mutters, annoyed and steps around her to go and find him.

He _really_ doesn’t like that witch.

But Derek’s out back like she said and he’s adding some burnt up pieces of something to a pile that they’re probably planning to remove from the work sight. He’s shirtless today and sweating under the hot sun with a hardhat on and it takes all of Stiles’ willpower not to react at the sight of it.

He might be marrying Lydia but he can still appreciate a fine specimen. The only problem is if he’s too appreciative this fine specimen will be able to smell it. Stiles frantically thinks about that decapitated head they found in the woods once and that fixes it up no problem.

Derek’s still dropping odd bits of burnt things on to that pile of kindling when it clicks.

“You’re those Rebuilder guys,” he realises. “You rebuild burned down houses.”

Which explains his odd reaction the other day when Stiles brought it up. And why Derek needed documents from his father. The witch is probably the one who does the protective enchantments.

Derek drops the bit of wood in his hands in surprise at the sight of him. Stiles wonders how he didn’t know he was there until he sees the headphones in his ears. And he probably couldn’t smell Stiles over all the leftover smoke clinging to everything.

Slowly he tries to pull the headphones out with gloved hands and struggles long enough that Stiles steps forward and does it for him. He’s close enough to get a real view of Derek’s insanely colourful eyes when he pulls the earbuds out. 

But Derek’s mouth turns down at the gesture and he steps back.

“What are you doing here Stiles?” he says, resuming his task without stopping to give him the time of day.

Whatever. Stiles can still work with that.

“I came to apologise for what I said, and for what Lydia said. She’s a really good person, all of this just took her by surprise because I never told her.”

Derek doesn’t respond.

“I know that’s not the way you wanted to hear it but I really-“

“What are you actually doing here?” Derek interrupts. “Because it’s not for that bullshit apology.”

He’s angry, Stiles realises. Well of course he’s angry. But how can he be surprised after four years of radio silence? Stiles moved on and Derek needs to accept that. If he would just turn around and look at him-

“Look, I just wanted to clear the air. I don’t want to leave things like that between us.”

Derek drops a chunk of crisped brick onto the pile with a loud thunk. “You don’t know what you want,” he mutters resentfully.

Jesus. He’s really angry. It’s not like this came as a surprise. He _knows_ Stiles is engaged. He asked for him to sign the divorce papers, which Derek did. How is this a problem?

“Okay, you’re pissed but you knew this was happening, Derek. I wasn’t hiding it from you.”

That seems to be the magic words because Derek finally spins around to glare at him. “You were lying when you said you didn’t love me anymore and that you wanted to marry that girl, Stiles. You were _lying_.”

Stiles reels back at the accusation. “No, I-“

“I heard your heartbeat,” he snaps. “What’s worse is I don’t even think you realised. You’ve gotten that good at lying to yourself-“

“Shut up,” Stiles says, heart pounding. “I’m not- I didn’t-“

Derek advances on him then and Stiles gets an eyeful of naked chest and his brain automatically switches off.

“Like you haven’t been hanging off me ever since you got back here, demanding to know who I’m dating, being rude to the people you think I’m with and staring at my mouth nearly every goddamn minute like you’re waiting for me to kiss you.”

Stiles, who is actually staring at Derek’s mouth at that exact moment, hastily flicks his eyes up to his face again. But he’s already been caught out.

“So no, Stiles, I’m not doing whatever this is. You’re in a committed relationship with someone and until you figure out who you actually want to be with, I don’t want to see you.”

He feels like he’s just been caught with his hands down his pants. Derek thoroughly put him in his place. And what’s worse is Stiles doesn’t exactly think he was wrong to do it.

Maybe he has been too focused on trying to reconnect with Derek since he’s gotten here. But Stiles can’t help it. It’s been four years. He’s missed Derek like crazy even when he didn’t want to. 

What on earth is he doing?

“Fine,” he mutters, turning on his heel and getting the hell out of there.

He passes the witch on the way out.

“We’re not dating you know,” she says, having clearly heard them shouting at each other. “We’ve never even hooked up. But not for lack of trying. Derek likes to keep his bed empty.”

Stiles glares at her and the air is crackling when he squeezes past. He doesn’t want to hear any of this right now, but Sayena reaches out and grabs his arm.

“You don’t think he built that big house just for himself, did you?”

Stiles’ feels his stomach drop. Is she suggesting what he thinks she’s suggesting? Did Derek build the house for him hoping one day he’d come back?

Stiles doesn’t have an answer for her. Or for Derek. He does the one thing that makes sense.

He leaves.

  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

  


When Stiles gets back to Scott's place, confused and annoyed and a whole hell of a lot angrier than he started, Lydia is curled up on the couch talking on the phone to her father. 

Instantly, he feels horrible. 

Here's his fiancée, trying to scrape together a guest list for their _wedding_ and Stiles is off, totally removed from a situation that he committed to, because he's still concerned about his ex-husband's feelings and what Derek thinks about him. 

She smiles once she sees him come in and Stiles manages a nod when she holds up a scrap off paper with a date written down on it. It's this Saturday. 

The upcoming date of their wedding. Lydia must have gotten that venue she wanted. Stiles didn't even know they had a botanical garden in Beacon Hills. And he's grown up here. 

In all fairness, it's on private property and the woman who owns it is an enthusiast. Apparently she's never hosted a wedding there before, Lydia had to go and meet the woman personally in order to convince her. Stiles knows it probably wasn't easy to make it happen. And on such short notice. 

He turns and disappears into the kitchen, wondering if Derek's accusation is somehow written on his forehead. It certainly feels like it. 

But he's mostly thinking about what Sayena said. And if it's true. Did Derek really build that house for Stiles? How could he possibly have done such a thing when he never came to Stiles with the truth to begin with? Or was Derek just pining over him, and hoping somehow that things would work out? 

Stiles doubts it. In all the time he's known Derek, he's never seen him pine over anyone. Least of all himself. Considering the types of relationships he had and how badly they ended, Derek's always had a very practical way of ending things and never revisiting them again. 

Stiles does not deserve Lydia at all. He hasn't exactly crossed a line into unfaithfulness yet, but he's definitely done some questionable shit. Why can't he just stop giving a shit about Derek?  


He pours himself a glass of water, annoyed that he doesn't have the answer. When he returns to Lydia, she's still talking on the phone but slides the list towards Stiles, a silent request to look it over. To add any of his own last minute guests. 

Should he invite the pack to his wedding? Would they even want to be there? And what about Cora? Would she be okay with that? Or do her loyalties lie with her brother on this? 

Stiles doesn't even know if he should invite any of them at all. 

Are decisions like this always meant to be so hard?  
  
  
  


The invitations are sent out and Stiles runs into Cora when he's going into town to meet with the florist. Lydia's still unsure of whether or not she should be contacting her favourite florist in New York and have them come out here for the wedding. 

Or just go with one of the local florists here. 

Stiles is meant to be the deciding vote. 

"Hey," he says, once he spots Derek's sister. "How's it going?" 

"Alright," Cora shrugs. "How are you? You look stressed." 

He laughs because yeah throwing together a wedding at the last minute it turns out, is super stressful. After this he's supposed to be driving out to the airport to pick up Brigid, Annora and Xander. Since they're in the wedding party. 

As well as Scott, who Stiles decided after everything that he still wanted him to be his best man. Scott was ecstatic when he asked. Though he might have been a little disappointed there's no bachelor party this time around. 

There's just not enough time to organise that as well. Stiles isn't so bothered about missing it. 

There's so much going on right now that it's hard to keep track of it all. 

And not to mention, Lydia's father is arriving in town tomorrow. He was in the paper yesterday chumming it up with the anti-wolf politician who's trying to put through a bill for a mandatory werewolf register which will force all werewolves to be documented and released to the public. 

Even now there are still some werewolves who prefer to fly under the radar. If this bill goes through, it will expose all of them. Stiles wonders how the hell Ross Martin could sit down and eat lunch with a piece of shit who wants to endanger lives by revealing identities to anti-wolfers and the kinds of people who burn down houses with werwolves inside them like that. 

But that's because he's a piece of shit himself. And unfortunately he's about to become Stiles' new father in law. He can see many heated arguments in his future. And it's only a matter of time before Ross Martin's platform becomes overtly anti-werewolf once and for all. 

Stiles does not want to see that day. 

It's a good thing that he doesn't have to pick him up from the airport as well. Ross Martin organised his own ride into Beacon Hills. He's probably going to turn up in a damn limousine knowing his tastes. And he's staying at one of the motels in town rather than any of the other available places, like Stiles' dad's house which was actually offered to him. 

Lydia 'accidentally' forgot to mention how terrible the motels in Beacon Hills are. Definitely zero star ratings. 

She is truly so amazing that Stiles doesn't even have words sometimes. He was a little worried about inviting werewolves to the wedding, but Lydia assured him if her father does anything remotely horrible, she's having him escorted out. 

Stiles agreed, for the sheer possibility of seeing that happen. 

"Thank you," Cora says abruptly. "For inviting me to your wedding. It really means a lot. I know it probably would have been easier not to send an invite to your ex-husband's sister." 

Stiles won't deny that's true. "Probably. But I still want you to be there." 

He glances at the two florists sitting across the road from one another with a frown. "Which one of these is the better shop?" he asks her. "We're meant to be sorting out our flowers today." 

Cora turns to look at both of them and her expression is woefully confused. "I have no idea," she admits. "You're better off asking Allison. Hey, when are we going to meet your future wife anyway?" 

Oh right. "Probably at the wedding," he admits. "Turns out she dated Jackson and she'd rather not go anywhere near him. But she doesn't want him to think that she's avoiding it." 

"Huh," Cora says, surprised. "I had no idea they even knew each other." 

"Jackson did move here from somewhere else first," Stiles points out. "But you're right maybe I should just call Allison. Is she working today?" 

Cora's face changes. "I don't know for certain. We don't talk." 

Oh shit, yeah. Allison said that. Stiles shouldn't have brought that up in the first place. "Sorry," he mutters, covering the sudden awkwardness. "I'll give her a call myself and find out." 

"Okay," she agrees, stepping back with a wave. "Good luck with everything, Stiles. See you Saturday." 

Stiles nods at her. "I'll be the one in the suit." 

Cora laughs and disappears down the street, leaving Stiles to make this important decision about flowers on his own. That is, until he finds Allison's name which he programmed into his phone and gives her a call. 

He's definitely going to need some help. Stiles doesn't want to screw this up for Lydia. 

Everything needs to be perfect.  
  
  
  


Ross Martin arrives and Stiles ends up driving him and Lydia over to the house meet his dad and it's literally the worst thing that ever happened. 

There's a distasteful look on his face when Stiles parks outside their house and Lydia's so angry from his earlier comments about the town Stiles grew up in that her lips are almost white from being pressed so tightly together. Stiles has been hoping she'll chew him out, but she's too polite to do it in front of Stiles' dad. 

Even though his dad would probably love seeing something like that. Especially after he finally meets Ross Martin. Stiles just knows in his soul that it's not going to go well. Even Lydia had been reluctant to make introductions, but her father had insisted upon it. 

And Ross Martin always gets what he wants. 

Stiles' father has just finished a shift so he's in his sheriff's uniform when he comes to the door to greet them. Stiles wants the world to swallow him up when Ross Martin doesn't accept his extended hand but firstly gives his dad a long significant once over, before his mouth curls. 

Stiles can't believe his father has to deal with this right now. He's never been more embarrassed of Ross Martin in his life. 

As if he's got any reason to look down on Stiles' father for being the town sheriff. When he's putting his life on the line to protect people, Ross Martin is palling it up with the kind of people who don't give a shit about the middle or lower class. Especially if they're werewolves. 

Stiles' hands curl into fists but he manages not to comment when his father welcomes them all into his home. Ross is immediately inspecting the entire place, not hiding his judgement and Stiles heads straight into the kitchen to make them all coffee. 

If he sticks around he's going to do something he regrets. 

His father handles the situation incredibly though, and pretends he doesn't notice Ross Martin in his ridiculous suit, disrespecting him in his own home. Especially, when he's disrespecting a man who owns a gun and knows how to shoot with deadly accuracy. 

When Stiles returns with a mug of coffee for Lydia and Ross, needing a return trip to grab the mugs for his dad and himself, Lydia looks like she wants commit murder herself. 

It's definitely a bonding experience.  
  
  
  


The wedding is tomorrow and Stiles isn't supposed to see the bride on the wedding day so he's going to stay over at Erica's apartment with the rest of the pack. Brigid and Annora have already flown in and Scott has kindly given up his house to the bride and her bridesmaids to prepare for the big day. 

As soon as they turned up, Scott said his hellos and made his escape in all the excitement. 

Stiles is beyond grateful that Scott offered, since he's still uncertain of where he stands with his dad right now and would really rather not be asking him any favours. Particularly after the disaster that was his first meeting with Ross Martin. Though in hindsight, he and Scott's relationship probably isn't that better. 

That's what happens when half the people you love betray you horribly and fuck up the course of your life for several years. Stiles has got a lot more hurdles to jump through before he gets his happy ending. 

Only when he kisses Lydia goodbye, tossing his bag into the rental car and pulling out of Scott's driveway, Stiles doesn't head over to the pack apartment where everybody is waiting for him and Scott's no doubt clearing out their fridge to make celebratory drinks. 

Instead, like he's lost control of his body all of a sudden, and Stiles turns his car towards the opposite direction. To the main road that leads straight out of town and onto the highway. 

He doesn't know what's happening, he's panting fast and it feels like something's constricting his chest and he cannot be trying to leave right now in the midst of his wedding night when he supposed to be getting married tomorrow. 

But he is. Leaving that is. 

Stiles presses down on the accelerator and his throat feels like it's seizing up when he passes the last houses on the fringe of Beacon Hills, leading him far away. What is wrong with him? Lydia is perfect. Everything is perfect. 

He's meant to be getting married! Where the hell is he going? 

He stops breathing altogether when he passes the Beacon Hills sign and red and blue lights start flashing behind him. Stiles barely manages to pull over, and he's wheezing by then, glancing frantically in the rear vision mirror to see the cop climbing out of the car when he switches off the engine. 

It's his father of all people, and Stiles is cursing his luck that he's even on patrol right now as he tries to get his heart under control. But he knows his dad is going to want to ask why he's speeding. Why it very much looks like he caught Stiles trying to flee town. 

He's screwed. 

There's a car coming from the opposite direction, probably a commuter driving home from work and as it gets closer Stiles recognises the truck. And the man behind the wheel. 

Derek has a second of meeting Stiles' eyes, catching the panicked look there before his attention is sliding over to his father slowly approaching the car. 

Stiles cranes his head to watch him drive off but amazingly Derek pulls over to the shoulder on the opposite side of the road, engine still running when he hops out. He hasn't seen him since Derek yelled at him and told him to stay away a few days ago but he's in his construction gear, probably just finished up work on a new site. 

And Stiles is relieved to see him. 

"Stiles?" his dad says, once he realises who he's looking at in the driver's seat. "Where are you going like the devil's chasing you? You were doing 75 in a 50 miles per hour zone." 

He has no idea what to say. Stiles' mouth is parched and he feels like he's just run a marathon. "I- I was," he trails off, watching Derek jog across the road lines towards them. 

"Stiles," he calls, sounding strangely confident as he reaches the sheriff's side. "It's okay, Scott found them." 

He's too shocked to respond. Mostly because he's got no idea what Derek is talking about, but he's also pretty sure that he's flat out lying. Right in front of the town sheriff. 

"Found what?" his father asks, curiously, interested to know what all the drama is about. 

"Stiles thought he lost his wedding ring," Derek explains quickly, blatantly lying to his father's face. "So he went off in a rush to buy another one for tomorrow. Scott found it and tried to call him, but his phone is off, so he called me instead hoping I could flag him down on my way back into town." 

Stiles is shocked speechless. Derek and his dad are supposed to be friends or something. And Derek is lying to his _face_ right now. What the hell is happening? 

"Uh-" he manages, voice coming out more shaky than intended. "Thank God. He found it." 

"Even so, kid," his father says unhappily. "I'm gonna have to write you a ticket." 

Derek pulls a face. "On his wedding night? Come on, John, cut him some slack. He panicked." 

His father glances between them both and Stiles doesn't know if his face is wearing the right expression, but apparently it works. "Alright," he says sternly. "But no more speeding, Stiles. I don't wanna lock you up on your wedding day." 

"Okay," he says weakly, watching his father turn back to the cruiser with a final wave. 

Derek waits until his father gets in and turns around, heading back into Beacon Hills before turning to Stiles again. "Are you okay?" he asked, sounding concerned. "You're face before was-" 

"I think I need air," Stiles says loudly, which is ridiculous considering his window is rolled down and there's more than enough of it to go around. 

Derek obligingly opens the door and watches Stiles stagger out. He takes his elbow to stop him stumbling into open traffic and helps him walk around and sit on the hood. Stiles isn't denying he's a bit shaky. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks after a second of tense silence. "Or am I meant to be pretending that you weren't cutting and running out on your own wedding?" 

This is the worst. Of all the people who could have caught him doing this. It had to be Derek. 

"I can't talk about this with you," he mutters, resting his arms across his knees and trying not to look at Derek's face. 

He seems to be taking this remarkably well. Derek doesn't even seem that upset. And he helped Stiles out when he clearly could have kept driving. Why did he help Stiles anyway? 

"Okay," Derek says understandingly. "Who _do_ you want to talk to about this? Cause I can go and fetch them." 

Stiles sighs and stares at his shoes. "Nobody," he mutters. "You." 

Derek leans up against the hood of the car after that, standing beside him. "Alright," he says. "Is this because of what I said the other day? I was angry Stiles and I-" 

"But I was lying," Stiles cuts him off. "Wasn't I? I was lying when I said those things." 

Derek doesn't answer immediately and that only makes Stiles feel more lost. "I don't know what I'm doing," he admits. "I was supposed to drive around to the pack's apartment, but as soon as I got in my car I was heading straight for the highway." 

"It could just be jitters," Derek points out, which is real nice of him considering how steady Stiles had been on their wedding day. He didn't have any kind of doubts whatsoever. Even with his father talking crap about his future husband. 

"Right," he agrees, dryly. Because trust Derek to try and make him out like less of a bad guy. 

"Tell me what you like about her," Derek asks and he doesn't sound petty or jealous. Just interested. "Tell me why you're getting married." 

Well, okay. That's simple enough. "Because she's perfect," Stiles says. "She's so smart and gorgeous and intelligent, she's studying at MIT. She's always been an amazing friend, this was just a natural step. She's perfect." 

Derek hesitates and Stiles wonders what he's thinking. Should he not have said any of those things to him? 

"Stiles," he says, slowly, carefully, like he's not trying to start a fight. "You said perfect twice." 

Huh. 

"Did I?" he wonders, sitting up a little straighter. "I didn't notice." 

"Nobody is actually perfect though," Derek continues, without looking at him and Stiles suddenly remembers that conversation he overheard with Derek and Cora when he first arrived back. "We're human, Stiles. That makes us deeply flawed in a lot of different ways." 

Yes, definitely. Stiles isn't denying that. 

"Not all of us are human though," he points out meaningfully. 

Derek just rolls his eyes. "What I'm trying to get at here, Stiles, is when you say she's perfect are you saying it's because she's an incredible human being that you don't feel worthy of? Or are you saying it because she's perfect for _you_?" 

Honestly, what kind of question even is that? Can't she be both? Or does Stiles not have an answer for that at all? 

"I don't know," he admits, a little astonished. 

How has he not thought of this before? How, in two years of dating did this never come up? Surely he knows the difference between the literal human perfection that is Lydia and whether or not that means she's perfect for him? 

"Maybe you should think about that then," Derek suggests, standing up straighter. "Or better yet, talk to her about it." 

Stiles gives him a look. "You can't see the bride the day before the wedding." 

"The tradition is the day of, isn't it?" Derek says. "And cell phones do exist. You could just call her." 

That is some amazingly logical advice coming from Derek right now. Stiles cannot deny that he's impressed. 

"Thanks," he says, quietly. "For helping me. I- thanks." 

Derek only shrugs. "I probably owed you a few considering our history." 

Does he ever. 

"I am sorry," Derek says. "For everything. It's good to know that you're gonna be happy. Good luck tomorrow." 

He manages a nod but Derek is already jogging across the road back to his truck. Stiles isn't sure what he was expecting, but whatever it was, it wasn't for Derek to just leave like that. 

Stiles was certain he wasn't ready to give up on them. Why would he have extended the divorce proceedings for so many years? Why would he have hesitated when Stiles came back now? 

Why would Derek give him surprisingly impartial advice about his upcoming nuptials to someone else and then just walk away? 

It's strange to think now that there's a version of Derek he doesn't quite understand. 

But there he is, climbing into his truck after helping Stiles settle his nerves, and driving away. 

How could he not have more to say?

  
  
  


He's right though. Stiles knows Derek is right. 

So he pulls out his cell phone and prepares for a very unpleasant conversation. 

"Hey, Stiles," Lydia says brightly. "I'm looking at the flowers now. Angelina is setting them up in her garden for tomorrow and I just know they're going to look incredible." 

"Are you sure we're making the right choice?" he asks, and it sounds a little too desperate for his liking. 

Lydia is quiet for a moment and there's no way she can mistake his meaning. 

"Of course we are," she says eventually. "Calla lilies were a much better choice than the white roses." 

Stiles laughs. He doesn't know why it's funny, but somehow it's the most ridiculous thing he's heard all afternoon. And his father did almost just give him a speeding ticket. 

Lydia's confident. She doesn't sound uncertain or conflicted or jittery. She's perfect. 

And she wants to get married. 

Stiles is doing this. 

"See you tomorrow," he says. "Don't you girls have too much fun without me tonight." 

Lydia laughs a little, sounding excited. "I'll be the one in white."  
  
  
  
  


Stiles is dressed and ready and on his way to the wedding when he sees there are a few missed calls from Scott. 

His father is driving him over to the gardens, when Stiles rings his voicemail in order to listen to them. 

The first one is just the loud noises of what sounds a lot like the background of a bar, Scott trying to shout some nonsense over it. Stiles deletes that one without listening to it again. In the next one Scott has only created a marginal distance between himself and the bar, because Stiles can still barely hear him. 

"Stiles," he shouts, slurring a little. "You wouldn't believe who I met tonight. This girl, man. She knows you. She's so cute, dude, I'm like just standing here like whoa, you know? And she knows you dude! She says she's been trying to get into contact with you this past week but you haven't been answering her emails and-" 

Stiles hangs up on that voicemail too. So Scott went out and had a wild night last night. Was he with Derek? When Stiles woke up this morning the whole pack was sleeping in uncomfortable looking positions around the living room floor as if they'd just crashed there. 

They must have taken Derek out last night or something to cheer him up. And then gotten wasted. Stiles barely managed to wake them when he was heading out the door, and he'd left them to scramble into their fancy clothes and shower off some of the hot mess from last night. 

Whoever this mystery girl is that Scott is waxing poetic about in the phone message, Stiles doubts that it's not something that can't wait until after he's hitched. It's probably just a girl from high school or something that Scott wants to hook up with. 

Stiles doubts it's emergency worthy. 

"You ready to do this?" his father asks and Stiles finally pockets his phone, glancing suspiciously at him. 

"Yeah. Why?" 

"You seem a little agitated, son." 

Stiles better not be getting another wedding day bombshell from his father. If that's what's happening here then it's more than likely he'll be committing a murder before his marriage today. 

"I'm fine," he says, a little too sharply. "And I don't want to hear anything about what you think about my new partner. You're not allowed to drop opinions at weddings ever again." 

"Okay," his father agrees easily, fingers tightening on the wheel. "I've got nothing to say, except that I'm proud of you." 

Alright, and that's probably making things worse. He's proud _now_? And not when he was about to marry Derek? Why did Stiles decide letting his father drive him to the ceremony was a good idea? 

"So you're proud now, why? Because Lydia has a bank account bigger than your mortgage?" 

His father's expression is a little hurt but he tries to conceal the reaction. "No, Stiles. I'm proud of you for taking this new step in your life." 

Stiles doesn't mention that his father wasn't so encouraging when he took that first step with Derek because it's only going to ruin his mood. He can't have Lydia walking down the aisle towards him while he's glaring at his father. 

Nothing is going to ruin this day.

  
  
  


"Dude are you still drunk?" Stiles hisses, when he's standing at the altar with Scott and Xander. 

Xander glances at Scott with interest and Stiles feels he should probably mention he hooked up with a girl last night that he was apparently into enough to call Stiles and tell him about it. 

He might have to look elsewhere for his wedding party hook up. 

"Nah," Scott mutters. "You know how quick I bounce back." 

Stiles neglects to mention all of the times he's caught Scott vomiting in bushes. Even werewolves can have too much to drink. Especially if they use wolfsbane alcohol to actually get drunk in the first place. 

Scott has accidentally poisoned himself on more than one occasion. 

Stiles cannot have his best friend emptying his guts in the gardens during their wedding ceremony. Especially when Lydia went to such painstaking efforts to make this place so spectacular. 

"You'd better not puke anywhere, dude," he mutters, smiling at some of the guests heading towards their seats, slowly filling up the rows. "Cause I'll kill you with my bare hands." 

"It's okay," Scott promises. "You're gonna do great, buddy. Don't be nervous." 

Jesus, and he _is_ nervous right now. His suit doesn't feel like it fits right and Stiles can't seem to stop sweating despite the fact that there's a cool breeze moving through the trees, making the flowers decorating every row dance. 

This is out of a damn fairytale and Stiles is so uncomfortable at this point he'd probably rather be standing here stark naked. 

Scott reaches out to pat his arm, before he takes a huge yawn, eyes flashing different colours almost automatically. 

"You're a _werewolf_?" Xander realises, and his voice is just a little too loud because the conversations of the guests die off around them when they turn to look at Scott. 

Oh shit. Stiles can see Lydia's father, and the instant expression of disapproval like Stiles brought in an inflatable dildo to a funeral, instead of his best friend to his wedding. If he wasn't standing up at the altar right now he'd walk over and smack him around for that alone. 

Ross Martin is really trying his patience. 

Xander seems to realise his big mouth has gotten him into trouble again. And Scott is just standing there awkwardly trying to keep the smile on his face. 

"Oh shit, I'm sorry," Xander says, lowering his voice. "I got too excited. I've never met a werewolf before." 

Then he reaches out his hand as an offering and Scott finally turns away from the crowd to shake it, the sudden tension leaving his shoulders. "It's cool," he says. "No problem." 

Xander is infinitely more interested in Scott now. "Hey, sorry about all that shit in the media. I hope you know that a lot of us don't believe that bullshit about you at all." 

Scott seems a bit bemused and maybe a little surprised but he goes along with it. "Hey thanks man." 

The crowd of guests have lost interest again but Stiles can't help but notice they're glancing at Scott more often than they did before. Hopefully no one does anything shitty. Stiles doesn't want to get into a fight during his wedding, but he totally will. 

Or he'll do what Lydia suggested and get one of the bouncers to remove them. They're having a hard enough time as it is keeping all the press out of the wedding right now. Apparently everyone wants to see New York's favourite scientist/socialite get married to some average joe in a town in the middle of barely anywhere. 

Stiles isn't exactly relishing all the attention this is bringing. 

But he's getting married and that kind of comes with the territory. 

If he could just stop _sweating_. 

The chairs are all filled up now and Stiles has yet to see the rest of the pack. Are they honestly not going to turn up today or are they just late? 

They're just late it turns out. Because Stiles catches sight of them all hurrying in a second later and they end up standing at the back of the groom's side of the aisle. Some of them wave and Erica gives him an apologetic look and mouths 'sorry' before gesturing at Isaac who's tie isn't even done up. 

If anything he looks worse than Scott. How much did they all drink last night? 

Allison comes in a second later and she looks incredible in the blue dress she's wearing. She waves quickly at Stiles, before going to stand with the rest of the pack. He can see from their expressions that they're surprised but happy that she's standing with them, accepting her quickly into the fold. 

Stiles hopes that things work out. 

The violins start up and his heart is pounding suddenly at the unexpected sound. 

The wedding is starting.

  
  
  


Lydia is perfection. As always. She practically floats down the aisle towards him, flowers interwoven into her luscious strawberry blonde hair and her creamy white dress is ethereal and runs smoothly along her body. 

She’s a vision and Stiles’ doesn’t think he’s smiling enough.

Lydia’s still holding her bouquet, about to pass it to her maid of honour and take both his hands when there’s a commotion at the back of the rows of seats and she stops.

Stiles glances back as well, expecting Derek for a horrifying moment, storming in gruffly and demanding he doesn’t go through with this. But Derek’s not here.

It’s Kira Yukimura, and there are twigs in her hair- did she climb the wall to get into the gardens?- and she’s flushed and harried.

Lydia offers a raised brow and Stiles has zero answers for her. Why the hell is his lawyer here?

"Kira?" Scott says, and he looks shocked. 

Stiles suddenly realises who the voice message had been talking about. Drunk Scott had been trying to warn him about Kira Yukimura's arrival. 

“Mr Stilinski,” Kira gasps. “I’ve been trying to get into contact with you for days-“

“What’s going on?” he demands, unnerved and jittery. “I sent you the papers.”

Her expression twists like she’s trying to conceal a wince and he wonders what could have possibly gone wrong _now_. This is not the time to be hashing this out.

“Miss Yukimura, Kira, he signed them,” Stiles says, hearing the painful lilt in his voice, the oncoming ache of longing and frustration.

Why is he still doing this to himself? To Lydia? It’s their wedding day and he made this choice. Derek made his choice and this is how it’s meant to be.

Miss Yukimura glances at the rows of friends and family on either side of the aisle, here to see a wedding, not expecting Stiles’ lawyer to interrupt the proceedings. Jesus, they’ll talk about this for years after.

At least she looks contrite and awkward, as she steps towards the dais that Lydia had flown in from New York for the occasion.

“Mr Stilinski,” she starts, lowering her voice as much as possible, which seems redundant amongst the many werewolves and other supernatural creatures attending today. “He signed the papers but- _you_ didn’t.”

Stiles’ eyes widen and he turns to Lydia just in time to witness her reaction. Her perfectly manicured hand, gripping the beautifully crafted bouquet of white calla lilies slackens and she slowly lowers the bouquet. Until it’s pointed directly at the ground as if it's very likely to slip through her fingers.

There’s a sense of finality in that gesture.

“You didn’t sign the papers?” she repeats, and Lydia doesn’t sound surprised, she doesn’t sound like anything.

“Of course I did,” he insists, heat crawling on the back of his neck. “This is a mistake, I-“

Miss Yukimura extends the papers towards him and suddenly he can see the proof right in front of his eyes. 

She’s right, he didn’t sign the papers. Oh God, how did he _miss_ this? After everything he went through for Derek’s signature. What is wrong with him? 

He never forgets things, but the stress of the wedding, it must be-

“Does anybody have a pen?” he asks meekly, staring around the crowd beseechingly and there’s Cora, stepping forward, pen in hand.

Stiles cringes at the sight of her. At the stark reminder of Derek, while his sister hands him a pen to end their marriage once and for all.

He can’t even thank her. Stiles just takes the pen and bends over to sign the papers in Miss Yukimura’s hands. To sign their marriage away. He can’t even get the tip of it against the paper. It’s like his hand has a mind of its own. 

It’s shaking he realises, and even worse is the sudden crippling realisation that he _can’t_ do it.

He can feel everyone’s eyes on him. Feel Lydia’s boring into his back. Cora’s. Scott’s. His father’s. They’re all waiting on him. Why can’t he do this?

He’s gazing at the paperwork, the line where his signature is meant to go until the image blurs before his eyes. Stiles doesn’t know what he’s about to do, but that's not an issue when Lydia appears at his side and takes the pen out of his hand.

He’s waiting for an accusation in her gaze but instead there’s a wry smile, a wretched kind of fondness.

“This doesn’t just happen,” Lydia says quietly. “Stiles, you never forget things. Ever.”

And there it is. Lydia’s laid it all out on the table as always. He’d expected her to be angry, or upset but instead there’s this bewildered sense of acceptance when she shakes her head, still smiling.

“I think I knew this was coming,” she admits. “From the moment I first saw you looking at him.”

He remembers. He hadn’t expected her in Beacon Hills and he’d been swept up in Derek, admiring what was the same about him. And what had changed. If she hadn’t said his name in that moment, he doubts that he would have noticed that she was there. 

Stiles almost _didn’t_ notice she was there. And she called his name _twice_.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I love you so much but even when I was with you, I haven’t had my whole heart. Part of it has always been with someone else.”

Lydia nods, elegantly and understanding. She’s taking this so well, Stiles doesn’t deserve it.

“How dare you,” Ross Martin shouts, starting furiously towards him once he figures out this isn't happening. “After everything she’s put up with. After all the money I put into this wedding, you’re going to turn your back on my daughter for this shitty town, that fool sheriff you call a father and the rabid werewolf folk who infest it?”

Stiles socks him right in the jaw. 

He doesn’t even think about it, his fist is already flying. Ross Martin goes down in a mess of limbs, staggering into the first row where Stiles’ father is sitting with Melissa. He can hear Isaac whistle from the back and Scott and Erica cheer and whoop with delight.

Sheriff Stilinski helpfully pushes Ross Martin off and he lands face first into the grass, groaning loudly but doesn’t get back up again. Lydia stares impassively at her fallen father and doesn’t make any effort to help him. 

Annora as always, is smirking while Brigid looks on in horror. She's a bit of a pacifist and really can't handle any violence. Lydia, however is not at all concerned with the proceedings.

Stiles doesn’t need to find Ross’ ex wife in the crowd to know she’s enjoying this. Lydia’s mother always made it clear how much she dislikes him.

Lydia turns back and it’s clear from her face that she’s a little surprised. Stiles has never really shown her this side of him before. The one who throws punches at people who insult his father. Or his family. 

“You don’t want to marry me,” he says, a little desperately. “You said once that you wanted to be with the good guy, and that’s really not me, Lyds. I’m a total asshole.”

She laughs then as if finally seeing him for the first time. “Yeah, you are. But I don’t blame you for that. I guess I just figured we’d make it anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I thought we would too.”

The werewolves amongst them are shifting now, aware that this wedding is pretty much over. The humans are a little more confused but they’re beginning to figure it out. Stiles wishes he'd listened to himself sooner. Then they might have avoided this.

Lydia smiles again, beautiful even in this moment and Stiles hates that he let it go this far. That he had to be so stubborn. And in denial of what he really wanted.

Pretending that as soon as he’d seen Derek again that the world hadn’t shifted under his feet.

He understands now why he was drawn to her. Looking past the mutual attraction between them, there's nothing that he could ever fault her for. Nothing anyone would ever fault her for. 

Lydia is perfect. And nobody in their right mind would ever think to tell him on his wedding day that marrying her was a mistake. Especially not his father. 

Stiles realises all this time that he's been trying to prove something. To his dad. To his pack. To Derek. But that's not a good enough reason to be doing this, to look at Lydia and not see her as an actual person. 

She does seem perfect in a lot of ways that Stiles could probably talk about for hours, but that's not the whole truth. Nobody is truly perfect. 

And even if no one has any objections to Stiles marrying her, he knows it's a mistake. And Lydia knew it was a mistake too. Even if they weren't quite ready to give up on it just yet. 

She tilts her chin up then, staring proudly at the crowd of people before them, immune to their reactions or silent judgements. 

The press is going to relish this entire disaster. It's going to be all over the papers. The news. He hopes someone got a good shot of him punching her father. He'd be okay with seeing that make the front page. 

Despite all those problems awaiting them, Lydia faces the situation head on, unflinching and Stiles is in awe of her, and he knows he's always going to be.

But then something strange happens. Lydia’s gaze stops on someone in the standing party at the back. They’d run out of chairs an hour before the ceremony.

Stiles doesn’t understand what's happening until she lets out a sharp breath and an expression he’s never seen overwhelms her face. For the first time in her life, Lydia’s composure slips.

Her hand shoots out and snatches at his wrist, squeezing him so tightly that he can feel nails through the material of his suit. He’s too surprised to react.

“Aly?” she whispers and Stiles finally follows the direction of her gaze, resting on Allison Argent.

The same Allison who’s staring wide eyed at the no longer bride to be, like she’s seen a living memory.

“Aly?” Annora repeats, shocked, knowing exactly who she's talking about. “Lydia-“

Hold on. Isn’t that-?

“Oh my God,” Stiles says, putting it all together. “ _The_ Aly? From that fighting camp you went to when you were in high school? The one you said-“

Lydia grips his arm tighter, but she hasn’t looked away from Allison. They’re just standing there, staring at each other with matching awestruck expressions on their faces.

“Is she- is she-?” Lydia tries, sounding breathless, so much that Stiles begins to grin.

“She’s single,” he says, amazed he didn’t figure it out sooner. 

He remembers Allison had talked briefly about a girl she met at camp two summers after she and Scott broke up in high school. Stiles had completely forgotten about it. But clearly Allison hasn’t.

Lydia finally releases his arm, but that’s only so she can shove the bouquet into his hands and hurry down the aisle to Allison, who’s already walking determinedly towards her. 

“Change of plans,” Stiles tells the crowd, grinning at the impossibility of it all. “Anybody who wants to hit up the reception go ahead. I’m gonna go find my husband.”

The pack cheers and those on bride’s side of the aisle seem incredibly uncertain with the sudden change of events. Especially at the sight of Lydia embracing a strange women at the back of the crowd, crying and laughing and holding her so tightly like she plans to never let her go.

Stiles is laughing when he drops the divorce papers onto the carpet rose petals making the aisle, patting Miss Yukimura on the shoulder as he blazes past.

“You'll be at the reception?” he asks her. “Scott would love to see you there.”

Miss Yukimura glances at Scott who’s beaming at her and actually blushes. Stiles glances back at Xander to see if he's disappointed but he's already got his eyes set on Isaac instead. Jesus, he moved on quickly. 

Kira nods her agreement and Stiles is already scrambling to get the hell out of there. He pats Lydia on the back as he goes but she’s too distracted with Allison that she doesn’t even see him. 

Allison smiles at Stiles so hugely that he feels ten times lighter that it ended this way.

Time to find him a groom.

  
  
  


The pack corners him before he gets outside and realises he hasn't got a car to get where he needs to go. His rental is still parked at the pack's apartment. Stiles is almost too wildly relieved to have finally admitted the truth to himself to even see the tense looks on their faces. 

Even Jackson is shifting his feet awkwardly. 

"You're not going to be able to see him," Boyd says unexpectedly, and Stiles' enthusiasm dwindles. "Derek left town." 

He blinks at them in surprise. What? "He _left_?" 

Cora steps forward to grip his shoulder like he needs grounding. Which he does. "He left last night after you two talked. He didn't want us to tell anyone where he went." 

And that's when Stiles backs away from her. He looks at them all. From Cora, to Scott, to Erica, to Boyd, to Isaac, to Jackson. They're doing this to him _again_. They're shutting him out. They're choosing Derek's comfort over his own. They're pulling this shit all over again. 

"But fuck that," Isaac says, amazingly. "You want to see, Derek?" 

Totally overwhelmed by the rollercoaster situation, Stiles manages a nod. "There's a cabin up near Bucks Lake that Derek owns," Scott explains. "It's totally off road. You're rental car won't make it." 

Oh perfect. "Then I'll-" 

"Take my car?" Boyd finishes, nodding his head towards a beast of a truck parked a little down the street before he tosses Stiles his keys. 

"You're going to need a map," Jackson says, surprisingly helpful. "It's an unmarked road. Secluded." 

"Hold on," Erica says, passing Isaac her purse before she's taking off towards Scott's car. Stiles watches her bare shoulders disappear into the driver's door before she's brandishing a folded up stretch of paper. 

Then she hurries back to them and pushes the map into Stiles' hands. 

"What do you need us to do?" Cora asks, stepping closer to him. 

They all look so determined to help him now that Stiles can see they're trying to make up for what happened years ago. They want to earn his trust back. 

"Keep any unruly guests like Lydia's father away from the reception?" he asks. "Hopefully by the time that's done, I'll have Derek with me." 

God, he'll have _Derek_. Stiles' body is tingling all over with excitement. But does Derek even want him back now? 

The doubt must be on his face because Scott reaches out to touch his arm. "He loves you, man," he says. "He built that house for you. Why do you think he's been trying so hard to improve himself?" 

"That wasn't just for him," Erica agrees. "Derek wanted to be better for you as well." 

Stiles is touched, unbelievably, by their willingness to help. But it doesn't magically fix things. 

"This doesn't mean that I trust you guys again or anything," he says, watching the pack's expressions tighten, become more serious. "But it's definitely a start." 

The pack seems to accept that, but Stiles can see they're serious about repairing the broken trust between them. About moving forward. "We'll take what we can get," Boyd admits, starting to smile. "But we'll prove that you can trust us again." 

Stiles grins at them and darts over to Boyd's monster truck. How does anybody drive a vehicle this big? Scott actually hurries over to help boost Stiles into the driver seat, even with the step available. Jesus. 

"Good luck, buddy," Scott says. "You can do this." 

Stiles starts strapping himself in. 

"So you're going?" his father asks, and Stiles looks up to see his dad standing at Scott's shoulder. 

Stiles tenses a little at the sight of him. They haven't exactly had the best track record for confrontations and wedding days. "Yep," he says, shortly. "You got anything to say about it?" 

The sheriff merely shrugs, but his expression is easy, relaxed. He's got no issues whatsoever. 

"Only if you want me to." 

Stiles snorts. "You wanted this all along, didn't you?" he mutters, amused despite himself as he fumbles to put the key into the ignition. 

"I wanted to repair some of the damage I caused," his father admits. "I know we've got a long way to okay, but I just want you to know Stiles, that I'll always be here for you. In whatever capacity you need me to be." 

He appreciates that, he really does. Stiles isn't sure yet. About any of this. He just knows it will take time. But if his pack and his father is willing to put in the effort to try and repair the broken bridges between them, then Stiles is absolutely on board. 

Everyone has made mistakes here. But Stiles knows he's ready to move forward. 

Figuratively and literally. 

He starts the truck and it roars angrily to life, loud enough that he flinches. Stiles glances down at his father and Scott again. 

"See you at the reception?" he shouts. 

They must be able to hear him over the engine because his father nods and Scott gives him a thumbs up. Stiles manages a wave at the rest of the pack before he's taking off the handbrake and pulling out into traffic. 

Lydia comes around the corner then, hand in hand with Allison and the both of them are beaming. Their smiles almost blind him with defiant happiness. Stiles can't believe how strange the world is. 

Especially when Lydia raises her free hand to him and waves him on with an impatient smile, like she's telling him he should have gone after Derek already. 

Stiles doesn't need telling twice.  
  
  
  


Stiles heads on over to the Bucks Lake, following the map Erica gave him. 

They weren't kidding about the unmarked road. Stiles actually drives straight past it and has to turn around once he realises. 

It is definitely not suitable for a rental car. Stiles is bouncing all over the place as he drives across the uneven surface. He even has to roll slowly through a small lake that formed in the valley of the road as he comes down the hill. There are fallen branches across the road, but the truck is big enough to handle them. 

Stiles can actually see the one's that might have been too much, the trunk of a hickory tree, a few thick set branches that the truck would have struggled with. Only they've been pushed expertly to the side of the road. Stiles can see the drag marks in the dirt, the faint outline of footprints since it didn't rain last night. Small traces of Derek. 

Did he just turn around and leave as soon as Stiles said he'd fix things with Lydia? 

Stiles tries to calm all of his restless energy as he navigates the road when all he really wants to do is charge through at full speed. It's taking a lot of patience that he doesn't have right now. 

But before long he's taking another turn marked on the map, and pulling up in front of a nice little wooden cabin, right behind where Derek's truck is parked. Heart in his mouth, Stiles switches off the engine and jumps down onto the ground. 

There aren't any noises coming from the house and Derek doesn't instantly come out to see who's arrived so he mustn't be in there. He’d want to be alone, out in nature and taking in all that fresh air like Stiles saw him do not so long ago. Especially if the guy he’s in love with is about to marry someone else.

If Stiles is still the guy he’s in love with.

He glances around the house, trying to figure out which direction Derek would have taken. He needs to be smart about this or he could end up lost in the woods surrounding this area. 

He spots a worn looking path, made by the travelling of feet over a long time and knows instantly that's where Derek went. He'd want to be alone and walk to clear his head. Stiles has to trust that he’s right in this. That he still knows Derek after so long. 

He darts towards the trail and starts walking. 

He knows he must look a little ridiculous. Out of place in the woods. Fully suited up and looking like he’s coming from a fancy part instead of searching for Derek at a damn hunting cabin. He should have probably gotten changed out of these clothes but urgency trumped common sense. 

His feet are sore in his pointy shoes at least fifteen minutes into the walk and Stiles regrets being so hasty. He’s sweating as he walks through the forest. It's quiet out here. Stiles can't hear the road, or any sound of cars or civilisation. 

It's definitely not a good idea to get lost in here. He wonders how long it will take Derek to realise that someone is approaching. And that that someone is Stiles.

That is, if he was actually right about this and Derek is actually here on this particular trail and not somewhere else chopping firewood or wolfing out or something.

He increases his pace, heart beating fast at the thought of what he should say. Sorry for being such a jerk but it turns out that I still want to grow old with you? Or wanna not get divorced after all?

Where does this trail even end? He'd better not be walking out here for hours. It's going to get dark before long and Stiles knows he's a tasty morsel for whatever else might be out here. He should definitely have changed out of this damn suit. 

Stiles eventually reaches what looks like a clearing, looking out across some of the lake and he’s panting a little and probably red-faced from the rush over here. He doubts he makes a pretty picture right now. Not really the romantic gesture he was hoping for.

But Stiles can see there’s someone lying atop one of the picnic benches through the trees leading into the clearing and suddenly it doesn’t matter anymore. He takes the last few steps and pushes into the wide open space.

It’s Derek and he’s staring up at the sky, watching the sun set slowly beyond the horizon. His hair is wet. He looks clean and freshly showered and completely distracted by his own thoughts.

“You done brooding yet?”

Derek sits up, shocked. “Stiles?”

He grins. “The one and only.”

Derek seems confused as he slides off the top of the bench and down onto the seat. But he doesn’t get up. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be getting married?”

It’s honestly kind of endearing that he doesn’t understand what’s happening here. “Well it turns out our divorce didn’t go through.”

“I signed them,” Derek insists warily. "I said I would."

Stiles feels a bit sheepish all of sudden. “You might have, but I forgot to.”

Derek only frowns at him, not understanding. “You once memorised the dates of every political conspiracy from 1552 BCE onwards. For fun. You don’t forget things.”

And ain’t that the truth. Stiles still likes to bring out those random informational titbits at dinner parties. “Funnily enough I did eventually get the message that I was subconsciously sending myself.”

Derek doesn’t move from where he’s sitting, but his expression is definitely sceptical. “You did,” he says slowly.

“I mean, yeah, why get divorced for another marriage when I’ve already got a perfectly good husband sitting right here?”

Derek’s eyebrows practically disappear into his hair but he doesn’t seem to be jumping for joy like Stiles hoped he would. “That is, of course if you’d still be into being my husband.”

“You live in New York,” he says. “I have responsibilities here, Stiles. I can’t just-“

“Hey, no,” he says, quickly seeing where this is going. “I’m graduating at the end of this year. It’s like barely a couple of months away.”

Derek doesn’t seem any happier with that information. “What if Beacon Hills isn’t enough for you anymore? What if you don’t actually want to live here?”

“I want to be wherever you are,” Stiles says firmly. “I’m not going anywhere this time. If you’ll still have me.”

“If I’ll still have you,” Derek snorts and Stiles feels a flash of panic. “No, Stiles. I just happen to have been single for so long, tried to better myself and work through my problems, formed a close relationship with your father and all the rest of your friends because I’ve moved on and I want nothing to do with you.”

Stiles laughs then, relieved and amazed and beyond happy all at once. “I seriously love you,” he says. “Like, not even realising I was still in love with you after years of bitterness and bad feelings kind of love. Like not even aware I was practically throwing myself at you the second I saw you again.”

Derek slowly breaks out into a smile. “You were never very subtle.”

But he hesitates again. “What about Lydia?”

Stiles is already stepping closer. “Turns out she had her own kind of long lost love making an appearance at the ceremony today.”

That’s of some interest to Derek. “Somebody showed up to stop your wedding?”

Stiles shrugs, stepping in between Derek’s splayed thighs. “Well, my lawyer, technically to tell me I was married and then I still couldn’t sign the papers she’d brought with her which was pretty awkward. But no, I’m talking about Allison.”

“Argent?” Derek demands, hands settling on Stiles’ hips almost absently.

“Yeah, turns out they go way back. Like falling in love one summer before being parted for years kind of long lost.”

Stiles braces his hands on Derek’s shoulders and likes the way he’s looking up at him, the way he swallows. “How did that happen? Lydia isn’t from Beacon Hills is she?”

“No,” Stiles admits. “She grew up in Jacksonville. She never even got Allison’s last name when they met.”

Derek’s eyes are kind of shining. “What are the chances of that? Her being friends with you?”

“Impossible,” Stiles agrees. “That was just destiny.”

He’s still staring at him intently. “You think?”

Stiles finally clambers onto Derek’s lap, wrapping his hands around his neck. “Yeah, same thing as me forgetting to sign those papers. Or following Scott onto your property. Destiny.”

Derek kisses him then.

It's just what he needed. Stiles surges up, half climbing Derek with his enthusiasm as they grip each other hard, kiss deepening as they reconnect. 

Soon he's desperate for air, so Stiles breaks off the kiss and leans back a little, very aware that he's tenting his dress pants right now. Derek isn't opposed to it.

“You weren’t completely alone were you?” He wonders, squinting down at him.

Derek shrugs, perfectly evasive. “It wasn’t that long.”

“It was four years, Derek,” he says, appalled.

“Marjorie advised me against it at first, because I couldn't deal with a relationship and look after myself. But after two years she eventually suggested I start trying again. And I did,” he says. “With a few people. I went on dates. But nothing more really came of it. It just didn’t feel right.”

“Because you were still married to me?”

“Because I was still in love with you,” he says, getting hold of Stiles' hips and pulling him in between his legs.

Stiles believes him. "But how do I know I can trust you again?" he asks, because it needs to be said. "How do I know that you won't lie to me to protect me from something else the next time things go wrong between us?" 

Derek's fingers tighten against his hips. "I promise you, I'll never lie to you again," he says. "The only thing I can do is show you that you can trust me. However long it takes." 

Stiles kisses him again briefly. "Hold on," he mutters before he can get distracted. "I need the little white lies, too. Sometimes you'll have to tell me I look great in things to spare my feelings." 

Derek gives him a significant once over. "You look great right now." 

That's definitely untrue. Stiles glances down at himself, at the dust from the road covering his suit and the few leaves that have gotten trapped in the fabric on his trek over here. Not to mention the sweat making the shirt stick to his skin. 

"Not bad," he admits, feeling a thrill go through him at the heat in Derek's eyes. 

“You got any other conditions?" Derek asks, getting to his feet and spinning Stiles around so that he's the one sitting down and Derek is in between his legs. "Because I’m going to blow you now,” he says, fingers edging along Stiles' pants. “I mean, will you let me-?“

“Yes, Jesus,” Stiles says, strangely breathless as he helps Derek tug his pants down.

It takes some finagling. But with a team effort they manage to get Stiles down to his boxers. Dress pants pooling around his knees. Stiles is definitely not getting the deposit back for this rental.

He very nearly loses it when Derek presses in closer, bracing his warm hands atop Stiles' legs, giving him a close up view of Derek’s thighs. “How did these muscles get bigger since I last saw you?” he groans, resting his cheek against Derek’s stomach and feeling it twitch beneath his skin. 

And then his attention drops downward to the significant bulge in Derek's jeans. 

“God, I missed your dick,” he groans, leaning back. “Is that a weird thing to say? Ugh whatever.”

Derek's hand is smoothing gently through Stiles' sweaty hair with a soft laugh before he slowly starts to drop to his knees.

He's staring at Stiles intently when he pushes his hands past the elastic and inside, feeling around until he traces along Stiles' erection and moves lower to gently cradle his balls.

Stiles makes a soft sound and wants to kiss Derek again when he gives him the kind of look that makes his blood hot. When Derek finally pulls him free, he lets out a pleased hum at the sight of an appendage he’s well acquainted with. Or used to be well acquainted with.

There's no doubt that he's into this. Stiles can see the outline of his dick, pressed up tight in his jeans and Derek is definitely into the proceedings. God, he'd forgotten how good this was. 

Derek is thumbing his slit now, spreading his precome and Stiles barely gets out a desperate, “Derek,” before he's lunging forward and taking Stiles into his mouth.

After so long the taste of his cock must be kind of overwhelming because Derek makes this soft noise that has Stiles' toes instantly curling. He groans at the sensation of heat, more precome blurting out of his dick as Derek swallows carefully around the thickness in his mouth, taking Stiles in further.

His own dick is straining hard against his jeans and Stiles wishes he could get down there to put his hands on it, but Derek's incredible mouth has him pinned to the spot. Stiles is frozen in pleasure when Derek just opens his throat and takes the rest of his cock.

Derek said it’s been a while since he last did this but apparently it’s just like riding a bike because he picks it up in no time. 

It super impressive. Stiles is panting and curling his fingers tightly around the edge of the bench until Derek drags them down into his hair. So Stiles gets the message and cradles his head, gently rocking past Derek's lips, the steady dragging pace of his dick sliding into Derek's throat. 

Derek tightens amazingly around him when he swallows and Stiles' pace stutters wildly after that. He cries out when Derek’s tests his own limits by taking him all the way in. Stiles knows he's not exactly small here, and he squeezes his eyes shut at the unbearable heat, the restrictive pressure of Derek's throat as his body arches towards him. 

Derek's nose ends up pressed against his skin, nestling against the patch of hair there when he figures it out and Stiles goes completely still, letting him set the boundaries. 

Both of Stiles’ hands end up buried in Derek's hair and he can't stop any of the desperate noises coming out of his mouth. Derek is amazing. And already, Stiles is so close.

Eventually Derek drags his mouth off until just the tip is resting on his tongue. and Stiles is spurting so much precome that it almost feels like he orgasmed. His eyes are wide and dazed as he stares down at Derek, softly carding his fingers through his hair and seeing the look of absolute wonder on Derek's face.

Stiles doesn’t know what to do in the gaze of all that, except maybe give Derek an amazing orgasm after. 

He's about to say as much when Derek swallows him down again and he loses the ability to speak in full sentences. Derek focuses on the head for a little while, exploring it with his tongue, and familiarising himself, switching between different sensations to keep him on edge.

And Stiles is super on edge. He feels like he could explode at the slightest provocation. He gasps when Derek explores the slit, tasting more precome and curling his tongue around where Stiles is the most sensitive.

“Look at you,” he pants, words disappearing into a groan when Derek drags his tongue along the underside of his dick. “You’re so beautiful like this.”

His answer is apparently to take more of Stiles' cock into his mouth again and hum around it, because that's exactly what he does. Stiles can see the teasing look in Derek's eyes, the pleasure, and Stiles realises he's enjoying the way Stiles is tugging frantically at his hair. God, he's so close. Just a little more and-

“Derek,” he starts, sounding strangled. “I’m gonna-“

But Derek only sucks harder, loving the way Stiles tries to fight against it, to make this last forever even as he’s thrusting faster into Derek's mouth.

He comes when Derek starts humming again, the vibrations pushing him over the edge. Stiles groans and floods Derek's mouth with come, shuddering at the intensity of it. Jerky and uncontrolled as Derek swallows it all down.

He's so sensitive after, twitching weakly in Derek's mouth before he pulls off, leaning back in to nuzzle the head, whilst grinding the heel of his hands against his dick. Oh God, Stiles needs his hands on that right now.

Stiles drops onto the grass with him, landing half atop his thighs, scrambling to undo his buttons and free Derek's trapped dick. He's practically soaked his briefs with precome and Stiles spreads it around as much as he can, slicking up Derek's dick so he's not too dry for this. 

“Yeah,” Derek moans, when Stiles wraps a hand around him. “God, you’re so good. So good. Stiles-“

Stiles kisses him, hand against his back to keep him close as he twists his wrists just right, pumping Derek just like he needs. He'd like to get his mouth on Derek too, but the bench is pressed up against his back and there's not enough room or time to get in a comfortable position for it.

Derek is panting into Stiles' neck when he finally comes, spurting all over his hand and on Stiles' shirt. God. Stiles just slows down then, milking him through it and stops when it reaches the edge of too sensitive. He’s kissing along Stiles' jaw as Stiles touches him and it's clear he’s going to have another round in him in a few more minutes.

“Let’s go back home,” he pants. “I wanna get you out of those clothes.”

"No," Derek says, unevenly. "The cabin. I can't wait. I want you to fuck me." 

Stiles scoots off him and lands on his ass. "You don't bottom," he says, surprised. 

When they were together, Derek never seemed interested in penetration. He turned Stiles down sharply the only time he'd ever asked if he'd wanted to try it and then they'd never talked about it again. Stiles had just assumed Derek didn't want it or didn't like it and had let the matter drop. 

He was more than happy with what they were doing. 

"I couldn't before," he admits. "Even if I had wanted to. Which I did. A lot." 

Stiles really can't believe this. He would never have hurt Derek if that's what he was worried about. Except, no that doesn't make sense, Derek was almost accustomed to pain back then, after all the times he'd been hurt by enemies, slashed open by claws. He wouldn't have been concerned about that. 

But he'd always had rigid rules about touching, especially when it came to personal space. He was just trying to protect himself. But his interest in sex was apparently much more repressed than Stiles had realised at the time. 

"Have you-" he starts, swallowing heavily. "With anyone?" 

"No," Derek says. "But I want to try it with you. I trust you." 

Stiles is suddenly becoming very aware of what a big deal this is for him. What he's offering Stiles. "We don't have to do it right now. If you're not comfortable-" 

"No, I am," Derek says, tucking himself back into his jeans and climbing quickly to his feet. "I'm ready. I've wanted this for so long." 

Jesus, the thought of doing this with him. Being _inside_ Derek. Stiles' cock starts to stir again. Derek watches it with a pointed smirk and Stiles struggles to pull his boxers back on when is body is already gearing up for another go. He tugs his dress pants up and takes Derek's offered hand. 

They head back to the cabin together. 

“I was going to tell you,” Stiles says. “There is still a reception going on right now.”

Derek starts to frown but he doesn't immediately shoot him down. “Wouldn’t that be in poor taste?”

“Not even a little since I told the entire wedding party I was off to find my groom,” he says. “I’m sure Allison and Lydia will be there and they’ll be plenty distracted with each other. Plus the pack. And free food.”

"If you don't want to do this right now-" Derek starts. 

No way is Stiles even thinking about that. "Oh no. That's definitely happening. If that's what you want. I'm just you know, throwing it out there as a future option." 

Derek mulls it over for a second. "We can go there after?" 

Yes, that's a great idea. Stiles fully supports that. "You might have to change shirts first though," he adds. 

He's starting to smile and Stiles glances down at himself, realising that he’s still got some of Derek’s come on him. Showing up looking like this at the wedding reception intended for his previous fiancée would definitely be in poor taste. 

“There’s a spare shirt in my truck,” Derek adds helpfully.

“God, I want you to fuck me in that,” Stiles says. “And pretty much every inch of your house.”

Derek inhales sharply at the suggestion.

"But cabin!" he says, breathlessly. "With you and me and-" 

"Fuck," Derek mutters and he drags Stiles in to kiss him again. They end up making out against a tree for a ridiculous amount of time, until Stiles is all but grinding against Derek's majestic thighs. 

Derek hauls him up eventually, until Stiles' legs are around his hips and he ends up carrying Stiles like that until they finally reach the cabin. Derek heads straight through the unlocked door whilst Stiles is going to town on his neck. He's loving the way Derek's body leans into the sensation, how he shudders. 

"Do you have lube?" Stiles groans into his throat as Derek sets him down on the bed. 

He nods and disappears into the bathroom. Stiles is already busy tugging off his jacket and unbuttoning his come covered white shirt when Derek finally returns, shirtless and carrying lube with a wonderful flush on his cheeks. Derek wants Stiles to fuck him. For the first time. 

He can't believe that this is happening. Stiles is gonna slow bone the hell out of him. He's going to make it _so_ good. 

"Uh- condoms?" he asks, when it's clear Derek's only got lube. 

Derek only shrugs at the question. "Werewolf," he reminds, tossing the lube next to Stiles and crawling onto the bed. 

He doesn't look as confident as he was before but Stiles can actually see there's more to his expression. He's nervous. Stiles kisses him softly in the hopes of making him feel safe and settled and tries not to think with only his dick. "How do you want to do this?" 

"Stomach is meant to be easier right?" Derek says, unbuttoning his jeans again and tugging them past his thighs. 

Stiles loses his train of thought when his briefs go with them and he's gloriously naked again. He realises he's still wearing pants, so Stiles frees himself from them too, along with his boxers before tossing them both into the corner of the room. 

If he had time to pay attention to anything else but Derek he might say the cabin is actually pretty nice. But Derek is fully naked now and he's giving Stiles an intent look before he seems to decide for himself that he wants to do this and lies down on his belly. 

Stiles is lost in the sight of Derek's ass, in the planes of his body that seem tight and rigid, but he's willing to bet will start to relax under his hands. "We'll do this slow," he decides, climbing atop Derek's thighs and settling himself there, noticing how Derek stiffens. 

He traces his hands across Derek's bare skin, sliding along his shoulders, his spine, the swell of his ass. Derek twitches under him and Stiles can hear his harsh breathing, can see how edgy he is about this right now. So he moves his hands back up to Derek's shoulders. 

It's a pity he doesn't have any oil, Stiles could really get him into a soft puddle if he had the time to massage him properly. But for now he'll have to make do with just his hands. He leans down and places a kiss atop Derek's spine, then kisses the centre of his triskele, feeling Derek's body jump under the touch. 

"Have you done anything like this before?" Stiles asks, well aware that Derek can feel his cock, fully hard now and resting heavy atop his ass cheeks. 

"I've fingered myself," he admits. "Opened myself up on a toy." 

Fuck. Stiles groans into his skin, as he starts kneading the muscles in Derek's shoulders. "God. Did you like it?" 

Derek starts to loosen up under his hands, letting out a puff of air. "Yeah," he admits, shakily. "I- came so much. All over myself. It was one of the best orgasms I've ever had." 

Jesus, Stiles really likes the sound of that. Derek touching himself. Derek getting off by himself, exploring his body and enjoying it. "I want to see that sometime," he says, hands slowly travelling down Derek's back. "I bet you'd look fucking amazing." 

Derek moans into the pillow. "Stiles, when are you going to-?" 

Stiles digs his hands in harder, feeling Derek relax under the pressure. "Until you loosen up. You said you trust me, I just want you to be comfortable for this. I want you to love it." 

"I will," Derek says quietly. "If it's with you." 

Oh God, when did he get so good at expressing feelings? Stiles feels like he's been hit over the head. "Can I lick you out first?" 

Derek doesn't respond straight away but Stiles notices how his fingers curl into the sheets. "Yeah." 

It's amazing that he'd even let Stiles do this. And there are a lot of things he'd thought about doing to Derek before. 

He doesn't immediately go for his ass, Stiles just keeps massaging his body, pushing his hands into muscle, warming him up and getting him used to the touch. The fact that Derek is leaning into his hands every time tells him he's doing something right. 

When he finally reaches Derek's ass, he shudders at the first contact. Stiles wonders just how hard his dick is pressing into the mattress and wishes that he could see it right now. 

Instead he scoots down a little, fingers moving across Derek's ass cheeks, trying to settle him before he drags his thumb across his entrance, dry. Derek groans and shifts when Stiles gently draws his cheeks apart, watching for any hesitation or change of mind before starting. 

"Stiles," Derek sighs. "Please." 

And that's all he needed. 

Stiles leans in and drags his tongue across Derek's hole. He hisses sharply at the first sensation of it and Stiles is carefully to give brief, fleeting licks of his tongue, leaving Derek enough time to adjust before he goes for broke. When he hums softly and goes completely loose, Stiles starts getting serious. 

He's thorough. Changing duration and pressure, going off the noises Derek makes to figure out what he likes best. When his tongue breaches him, Derek cries out, body shaking, flushed and sweaty and Stiles can't take it anymore. He needs to be inside him. 

He sits up quickly and grabs the lube, seeing how Derek's body glistens from the attentions of Stiles' tongue. "You ready?" he asks, liberally coating his fingers. 

He'd rather it be too wet at first than too dry. Stiles waits for Derek's confirmation and rubs his fingers together to warm up the lube in the meantime. 

"Yeah," Derek says. "Go ahead." 

Slowly, Stiles pushes a finger inside him. Derek pants openly into the pillow, making a pleased sound, flushed and wanting. He's so hot inside, Stiles is as hard as a brick, trying not to think about what it's going to feel like to have this heat wrapped around him. 

He adds a second finger a little while later when Derek starts getting impatient and then begins stretching him out. Derek wasn't exaggerating before. His body is extremely receptive to Stiles' attention. He doesn't doubt that Derek got an amazing orgasm out of this. And he's more than keen to make it a repeat performance for him. 

Stiles wants to make this so good. He gets Derek up to three and by then he's started working his hips, pushing against Stiles' fingers, gently fucking himself on them. When Stiles pushes in, and locates his prostate, Derek jerks beautifully and lets out a long groan. 

He's a vision right now. So lost in his own desire that his body has become soft and loose all over. Stiles doesn't remember a time when he was like this. Derek's carried tension around with him nearly all his life. 

"Now," he says, when Stiles is really lost to the movement of his fingers. "Fuck me. I'm ready." 

Stiles has to pull his fingers out to slick up his cock, and he coats it with another generous amount of lube, warming that up too and hissing at how close he is already. It's going to be a battle not to come straight away. 

He braces a hand against Derek's hip, holding him in position when his grips his dick and lines it up. Derek makes a frustrated sound when Stiles pushes the tip against his entrance, barely pressing in, just soaking in all the sensations of it. The anticipation. 

"Stiles," Derek starts. "Come on-" 

Then he pushes the tip of his dick slowly inside. Stiles wasn't wrong. Derek is hot and tight and drawing the rest of him in deeper like he needs it and Stiles can barely keep still. He presses in further, taking it at an easy pace, watching Derek open up for him, accepting his dick like it's a part of his body. 

"Oh God," he moans, dazed and out of his mind with pleasure. "Derek." 

"Keep going," he encourages breathlessly. "Fuck, don't stop." 

Stiles doesn't stop. He pushes in deeper and keeps moving until his body is flush up against Derek's ass. Then he lets himself feel it. Lets Derek feel it. 

And it's fucking _amazing_. 

Stiles' hips are moving before he's even consciously aware of it, wrapped up in the heat of Derek's body welcoming him in, the delicious drag between them. Derek is making these little punched out noises of pleasure with each thrust that only makes Stiles' balls tight. 

He is really not going to last long here. 

So Stiles tries to concentrate, slowing down and aiming for Derek's prostate on the next thrust. He wants this experience to be mind blowing. When he moves, Derek's hips roll back with a drawn out groan and he's spreading his legs wider, to give him more room. 

And isn't that the kind of sight that Stiles wants to brand into his brain forever. He leans down, sliding his fingers along Derek's hips until he's got a good grip, and starts moving again. 

Derek moans louder and works his hips back to meet Stiles, drawing him in so eagerly and moving like he wants to keep him there. And Stiles totally would. He'd stay here forever if that's what Derek wanted. 

"Fuck, you're so good," Stiles whispers, sweat dripping off his chest as the pressure builds up between them. "So perfect for me, aren't you, Derek?" 

"Yeah," he gasps, letting out another moan when Stiles slams in harder, filling him up deep. "F-fuck!" 

Stiles is getting close, but he wants Derek to come first. So he manages to arch Derek's hips up in order to reach his hand around and touch his dick. Derek wasn't exaggerating that ass play makes him come more. He's practically dripping when Stiles gets a hand around him. Which is perfectly okay since it means Stiles doesn't have to bother with the lube. 

He hisses at the sensation, but Stiles gentles him through it, trying not to overwhelm him too much. "Are you gonna come?" he asks, leaning down to whisper in Derek's ear. "I'm so close." 

That seems to be the magic word for Derek because suddenly he's moving his hips faster, really working Stiles' cock. 

"Come, Stiles," he pants."Do it." 

So much for Derek coming first. Stiles slams into him and starts shuddering through his orgasm just as Derek tightens viciously around him and begins to spurt all over Stiles' hand. 

"Oh my God," he manages, and that's all Stiles can say when the orgasm basically destroys his mind. "Oh God. Oh God." 

Stiles manages to pull out, rolling Derek over and pushing three fingers back inside him whilst he's still trembling through the aftershocks. He's still spurting come so Stiles rushes forward to take Derek's dick into his mouth with a happy groan, pumping his fingers inside him and locating his prostate again. 

Derek sighs, a grateful sound as he keeps coming in Stiles' mouth, writhing slowly against his fingers, muscles tightening and relaxing all at once. Stiles is so overwhelmed by how incredible it was that he can't even find any words. 

When Derek starts getting too sensitive and taps his shoulder as a warning, Stiles finally lets him up, withdrawing his fingers. Derek rolls over again after that, lying in most of the come as if it doesn't even bother him and Stiles wants to ask if he's okay before he realises that Derek is showing off his ass. 

Where Stiles' come is slowly slipping out of him. 

Fuck. 

Stiles collapses on his back with a tired and amazed groan. They aren't able to move for a few minutes. At least Stiles can't. Derek doesn't seem that annoyed by it though because he pants out an uneven laugh. 

"That was even better than I thought," he mutters into the pillow and Stiles is grinning from ear to ear at how languid he sounds. 

And Stiles would normally wholeheartedly agree with that assessment but he knows they've got other things to talk about. Other serious relationship things. "If we're going to do this, be together, we need couples therapy," he says. "Or a marriage counsellor. Because sex might be a great solution. But it's not _the_ solution, dude." 

Derek doesn't try to move away or make his escape like he used to whenever Stiles tried to talk about serious stuff. He just huffs out another breath. "I know we do," he agrees. "I want to do this right. I want us to work." 

"We do," Stiles says, because he knows they can. That they have before. "We _will_." 

Derek reaches back then and pats idly at the hand Stiles has curled around his body. There are a few other things that Stiles needs to say as well. Since Derek is apparently willing to discuss it. 

“For the record, I would have stuck around for all of it," he says, leaning down to kiss the back of Derek's neck. "The bad days too. If you hadn’t have pushed me away first.”

“I know,” Derek says softly, but tiredly, as if his body has just had a great workout. Stiles would like to think so. "I know."

  
  
  


They have to shower after. Because they really did make a mess of themselves. Stiles has all but given up on his suit now, there's no way it's still wearable after all it's been through. 

They shower together and Stiles nearly gets distracted with wanting to suck Derek off properly before Derek stops him. "We've got plenty of time," he says, kissing Stiles roughly. "No need to rush." 

"I'm going to New York in two days," he mutters, feeling dejected at the thought. "I have to be back at Columbia. So I've got to cram a months worth of sex into those two days." 

Derek snorts, and helpfully soaps up Stiles' back, letting his hands wander. "We can sort something out. Maybe I can come and visit you on weekends?" 

"That's expensive," Stiles points out. "Especially on a weekly basis." 

"Not for me," Derek says. "I can afford it." 

God, he's so serious about this, Stiles loves and hates it. "Yeah, but I'm barely getting by, and if you're coming there every weekend the guilt is just gonna eat me alive." 

Derek is kissing along his neck now. "Okay, okay. Then once a month?" 

Oh, that could work. "Yes," he moans, tilting his throat back. "You visit me, I visit you. And in the meantime, skype. You know how to use skype, right?" 

Derek snorts. "Yeah, Stiles I got it." 

He's got something that's for sure. Stiles rolls his hips into Derek's hand, which is now curled around his dick. "Oh God, and we can have skype sex." 

Stiles is nearly fully hard now. "Fuck, wait, you can show me how you finger yourself. Oh God, you and that toy." 

Derek groans in his ear and pumps Stiles a little quicker. He turns to kiss Derek and they're still kissing when he shudders and comes across the bath tiles. Derek gives him a soft peck before pulling away, cleaning himself off again. 

If they keep doing this they're never going to get clean. 

“The reception!” he says, ignoring the heat curling in his gut illogically suggesting another round between them. “We need to go the reception first. Then after you'll take me back to your big house and-“

“God,” Derek groans, stepping out of the shower, still hard. “Fuck, Stiles I get it.”

Stiles follows him out and waggles his eyebrows. “Yeah, you do.”

It’s meant to sound flirty but the fact that Derek just gets adorably confused is everything that Stiles wanted in life. They’re going to go to this reception, drink, eat cake and make out in pretty much every corner of the room.

Unless it’s occupied by Lydia and Allison. Hey, he saw those sparks flying.

They get dressed quickly, though Stiles has to borrow Derek's clothes which don't fit in the right places because of Derek's unfair muscles. But it'll have to do for the time being. 

They make it outside to Boyd’s truck though they keep getting distracted by the urge to push each other up against hard surfaces and make out for indefinite lengths of time. Stiles’ mouth is so swollen people are going to think he’s done nothing but suck dick since he left his wedding.

Which is only partially true. He definitely had his mouth on something.

God, maybe they should have just gone straight to Derek’s place instead. 

It’s a little late when they’re pulling up at the hall they booked the reception at and Derek’s looking real good in his fresh shirt. Stiles got to see all his muscles and everything.

Derek even let him touch a little. What a gift.

But Derek’s frowning at the building now, watching a couple stagger out of it looking way past tipsy. “Are you sure-?”

Stiles has to lean over and kiss him, nearly climbing straight into Derek’s lap. “Yeah, let’s do this.”

They head inside. 

They're definitely interrupting one hell of a party. The music is loud enough that Stiles feels sorry for Derek's ears and he only recognises about half of the people milling about, dancing around and drinking themselves stupid. Scott and Kira are carving up the dance floor together and he's got a good feeling about them two already. 

And it doesn't escape his attention that Xander and Isaac are making out against a wall. Cora seems doubly interested in Annora too, and their heads are bend close together, deep in conversation while they're sitting at a table together. 

The rest of the pack must have called in June and Corin too because they're here. Stiles didn't want to be rude, but he still doesn't know them that well so he didn't really think to invite them to the wedding. 

He's glad they're here now though. And it looks like the pack at least had the common sense not to invite Sayena. Stiles does not get along with that witch _at all_. 

The pack cheers when they catch sight of them but Stiles is already searching among the crowd for a white dress. He spots Lydia in the corner, curled up on Allison's lap, her white dress flowing beautifully as they kiss. 

They don't even look like they've realised the rest of the world exists. So that definitely sets any lingering fears that Lydia might not want him and Derek here together at ease. 

Stiles takes his hand, grinning as the pack rushes towards them. 

"You stink," Cora says immediately but she's happy. For both of them. 

Stiles definitely knows the feeling. 

"Jesus, you two," Jackson mutters. "You couldn't have even waited a day to fuck each other? We were at Stiles' wedding barely two hours ago." 

Like he's the one to judge. Stiles jerks his chin over at the happy couple in the corner. "You mean like they did?" 

Jackson glances over at Lydia, eyebrows climbing at the sight of them both and stops arguing. Isaac hands Stiles a drink and Erica puts one in Derek's hands. Stiles can see the cake has already begun to be demolished and he wants all up in that. 

"Cake?" he asks Derek, sliding his eyes over to the target in question. 

Derek raises a politely interested eyebrow as he takes a sip of whatever alcoholic beverage they've been given. Which means he's super down for cake. Stiles wonders if he can convince Derek to take him out on the dance floor after, as he leads him over to their destination. 

It turns out he totally can. 

"Should we talk to them?" he asks Derek over the music, arms wrapped around his neck and shamelessly grinding up against him ten minutes later. 

Derek's kind of overwhelmed by the looks of it because he doesn't catch up with what Stiles is saying for a while. And then he's glancing over at Lydia and Allison again who somehow have not yet come up for air. They defy nature with their enthusiasm. 

Derek nods his agreement and Stiles drags him over to the woman he nearly married today. And his friend who he had no idea was the one Lydia was carrying a torch for. 

"Hey," he shouts over the music and Lydia and Allison finally break apart. 

Allison seems flushed and embarrassed and maybe a little guilty at the sight of Stiles, but Lydia is looking impossibly pleased with the situation. 

"Are we cool?" he asks them, because they might not have worked out, but he still considers Lydia a friend. And Allison. 

He doesn't want to lose either of them. 

"We're great," Lydia shouts back. "And we're still friends. If you want to be." 

He does indeed. 

"I'm sorry," Allison yells, giving Stiles an apologetic look. "I had no idea that this would happen." 

Stiles grins at her, glancing at Derek who's smiling back at him. "Do I look upset?" 

Allison relaxes a little then and Stiles gives them both a thumbs up before dragging Derek back to the dance floor. The pack is dancing ridiculously around them and Stiles is laughing when Derek pulls him back in and kisses him. 

Then he's having a _great_ time. 

  
  


“Was Sayena right?” Stiles asks after Boyd drops them back at Derek's place since they left Derek's truck back at Bucks Lake. “Did you build this house for me?”

Derek has this easy relaxed expression that he's been wearing every since Stiles laid him out on the bed in that cabin and went to town on him. He looks a bit high actually. Stiles feels a little smug. 

“I guess I always hoped eventually you’d come back and I’d have another chance with you. I might have had you in mind when I designed it and when I imagined sharing the space with someone. It was a fantasy, I guess at the time. I never thought-”

“We are going to have sex on _every surface_ ,” Stiles declares, dragging Derek towards the house by his shirt.

Derek’s laughter get muffled a second later by Stiles’ mouth. They're already tearing off their clothes as they stumble over the threshold together and Derek immediately drags him towards the bedroom.

“What do you want to do?” Stiles asks, breathlessly when they pull apart for a few seconds. “Fuck me on my knees? Or ride my dick into the mattress?

"Either," Derek groans, marking up Stiles' neck. "Both." 

They're not going to sleep _at all_.  
  
  
  


When Stiles wakes up, he's naked and being spooned so incredibly that he doesn't want to move. Derek is warm, with his arms steadily wrapped around him and Stiles can feel his early morning interest pressing up against his lower back. 

So he does not want to be answering the door now. Except whoever it is won't stop knocking. Why did Derek have to buy a bed so comfortable? And be all, cuddly and fucking amazing right now? It's so unfair. 

Stiles wriggles free of him with a groan and Derek doesn't even stir because apparently he's all fucked out. 

Stiles can see the soft curve of his mouth and realises he's having very good dreams right now. He looks around and grabs one of Derek's baggy sweaters from where it's draped over the chair, figuring since it's long enough to cover his knees he doesn't have to worry about putting on underwear. 

When he opens the door Sayena is standing there. 

And Stiles suddenly regrets his rash decision. Especially when Sayena grins and her eyes pointedly travel down his body. 

"Well, _hello_ , sparky," she says with as much innuendo as physically possible, sounding utterly delighted. "Guess you finally got what you came here for." 

She might be trying to rile him up, but not even Sayena can ruin his mood right now. "Nope. You can't bother me today. I'm running on endorphins." 

"Sex endorphins," she teases. "Anyway, I'm happy for you." 

Say what now? His face must tell the opposite because Sayena only laughs. "I was mostly messing around before. I only put the moves on Derek once and when he shot me down that was the end of it." 

What the hell is wrong with this witch? She needs to find herself a new hobby. "Then why did you act like there was more!" 

"You think I didn't notice you marking your territory the first time I showed up here?" she says. "God, you were worse than a werewolf. I guess I just thought it was funny you were threatened by me when Derek epically pined after you for like a million years and was still pining." 

"You are actually the worst," he says. "Did you know that?" 

Sayena shrugs. "Yep. Hey, but look on the bright side, now we'll have plenty of time to get to know each other better." 

Stiles is staring at her, horrified by the thought when there are warm hands curling around his stomach and Derek pressing up against his back. "Where'd you go?" he murmurs, sounding sleepy. "The bed got cold." 

Fuck. Stiles has no idea how he's supposed to go back to New York and survive for a month without his husband. Especially when everything's so fresh and new and desperate again like it had been the first time they married. Stiles is going to be getting inappropriate boners _everywhere_ he just knows it. 

Derek finally seems to notice Sayena. "Oh," he says, grip tightening on Stiles as if he's expecting him to start trying to physically fight her. "Hey, Say. What's going on?" 

Sayena grins at him. "Well," she says, brandishing a bottle of terrifying looking alcohol. Stiles can't even see a label. Is that _moonshine_? "I thought you were going to be sad today so I came over to help you drown your sorrows. Only you're clearly busy drowning in happy married sex instead." 

"Clearly," Derek agrees and Stiles snorts a little. 

"So then this is a congratulations drink," she decides, handing the bottle over. 

Stiles accepts it, but he's staring at the liquid suspiciously. "Is this poison?" 

Sayena only shrugs. "Probably. It's homemade." 

"It's good," Derek promises. "She makes the best in town." 

She doesn't deny the compliment so whatever demon drink that's housed in this bottle must do the trick. "I'm happy things worked out for you two," she says. "And I'm sure I'll be seeing a lot more of you, sparky." 

Stiles nods. "You will be." 

Sayena smirks and steps back off the porch with a final wave. Stiles realises that he's actually not as annoyed with her presence anymore. It was definitely a jealousy thing. But maybe now that can change. 

Now that he's with Derek again. 

"C'mon," Derek says softly, fingers trailing pointedly across the back of Stiles' neck like he needs convincing. 'Let's go back to bed." 

Please. As if Stiles would rather be anywhere else.

  
  
  
  
  


The photo of Stiles punching Ross Martin in the face makes the front page of the New York Times the next day. 

Lydia sends them a framed copy in the mail a week later and Stiles laughs for about twenty years. 

Derek hangs it on their living room wall.  
  


 

  
  



End file.
